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THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 


ARNOLD  BENNETT 


By     ARNOLD     BENNETT 

NOVELS 

THESE  TWAIN 

CLAYIIANGER 

HILDA  LESSWAYS 

THE  OLD  WI\rES'  TALE 

DENRY  THE  AL'DACIOUS 

THE  OLD  ADAM 

HELEN  WITH  THE  HIGH  HAND 

THE  MATADOR  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  BOOK  OF  CARLOTTA 

BURIED  ALIVE 

A  GREAT  MAN 

LEONORA 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 

A  MAN  FROM  THE  NORTH 

ANNA  OF  THE  FIVE  TOWNS 

THE  GLIMPSE 

THE  CITY  OF  PLEASURE 

THE  GRAND  BABYLON  HOTEL 

HUGO 

THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

POCKET  PHILOSOnilES 

THE  author's  CRAFT 

MARRIED  LIl'E 

FRIENDSHIP  AND  HAPPINESS 

HOW  TO  LIVE  ON  24  HOURS  A  DAY 

THE  HUMAN  MACHINE 

LITERARY  TASTE 

MENTAL  EFFICIENCY 

PLAYS 

THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE 
CUPID  AND  COMMONSENSE 
WHAT  THE  PUBLIC  WANTS 
POLITE  FARCES 
MILESTONES 
THE  HONEYMOON 

MISCELLANEOUS 
paris  nights 

the  truth  about  an  author  ' 
liberty! 
over  there :  war  scenes 


GEORGE   H.  DORAN   COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

A  Melodrama 


BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 

Author  of  "These  Twain,"  "Clayhanger,"  "Hilda 
Lessways,"  "The  Old  Wives'  Tale,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


?1 


Loo'Z 

CONTENTS 


PART  I 

CHAPTES  PAGE 

I  The  Lovely  Mrs.  Cavalossi    ....  9 

II  Sylviane  Closes  Her  Eyes  Once     .     .  22 

III  The  Arrival  of  Mr.  Sims 42 

IV  Arthur's  Surprise  Falls  Below  Expec- 

tations    60 

V    The    Doctor    Explains    a    Million    in 

Vain 76 

VI    The  Conquest  of  Mrs.  Cavalossi     .     .  90 

VII     Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  Sylviane       .     .     .  102 

VIII     The  Invitation  to  the  Angel  of  Death  128 

IX    "Spilt  Milk" 138 


PART  II 

X    The  Other  Arthur 147 

XI     Vagaries  of  a  Dog-Cart  and  Some  Har- 
ness    165 

XII     Mr.  Sims  Sees  the  Door  Locked      .     .  185 

XIII  Mr.  Sims  Meets  with  a  Revolver     .      .  204 

XIV  Connubial 216 

XV    The  Rain  of  Sovereigns 225 

XVI    The  Last 238 


20464G0 


PART  I 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI 

She  sat  in  her  superb  private  drawing-room 
at  the  Hotel  Cecil.  She  was  facing  the  large 
window  which  overlooked  the  Embankment 
and  the  Thames  and  the  bridges  and  the  pag- 
eant of  moving  life  by  road  and  river.  The 
sun  was  in  the  heavens,  and  summer  in  the  air; 
the  trees  of  the  Embankment  Gardens  were  in 
full  leaf — the  geraniums  bordering  the  path- 
ways blazed  forth  a  gorgeous  scarlet;  the 
roofs  of  the  fleeting  hansoms  were  brilliant 
with  striped  awnings;  the  large  grey  excur- 
sion steamers  heading  for  Hampton  Court 
carried  cargoes  of  laughter  and  white  blouses; 
the  water  seemed  as  blue  as  the  sky — all  the 
world  was  smiling. 

Except  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  who  was  obviously 
uneasy  and  annoyed. 

Yet  she  was  still  young;  apparently  she  had 
wealth;  and  her  beauty  was  conspicuous,  daz- 
zling, memorable.  At  the  first  glance  you 
would    have    taken    her   for    twenty-five   or 

9 


10        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

twenty-six;  but  on  further  consideration  you 
would  decide,  from  the  firm  lines  of  her 
mouth,  the  mystery  in  the  eyes,  and  her  gen- 
eral air  of  experience,  that  she  might  be  more. 
She  was,  in  fact,  thirty-four,  and  she  had  been 
a  widow  for  seventeen  years.  A  strange  and 
enigmatic  woman,  the  strangest  and  most  enig- 
matic thing  about  her  was  that  during  all 
those  years  she  had  remained  unmarried.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  she  had  not  sooner  or 
later  yielded  to  the  mere  constant  repetition 
of  proposals  which — you  would  have  thought 
— must  have  come  to  a  creature  of  such  beauty. 
Then  perhaps  you  would  examine  that  oval 
face,  neither  dark  nor  fair,  but  something  be- 
tween the  two,  with  its  pearl-shaped  hazel 
eyes,  the  marvellous  profile  of  the  Grecian 
nose,  the  exquisite  firm  mouth,  with  rich  red 
lips,  rather  thin  and  compressed,  the  chin  a 
miracle  of  fine  curves,  the  rounded  rose-leaf 
cheeks  unmarred  by  any  cosmetic,  the  high, 
clear-white  forehead,  the  little  half-hidden 
ears — you  would  examine  all  this,  and  won- 
der at  it  and  enjoy  it.  But  you  would  feel 
a  vague  fear;  you  would  be  afraid  of  the  deep 
sinister  glance  which  flashed  now  and  then 
from    those    pearl-shaped    hazel    eyes.    You 


LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI       ii 

would  probably  say  to  yourself  that  it  was  a 
bold  man,  and  a  reckless  one,  who  would  pro- 
pose marriage  to  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

She  got  up  suddenly,  and  passed  two  or 
three  times  to  and  fro  across  the  room.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  walking  costume  of  white 
drill,  with  a  white  hat,  under  which  her 
brown  hair  was  lightly  coiled.  Eveiything 
was  severely  simple;  yet  the  last  word  of  style 
was  spoken  by  that  dress  and  coiffure.  She 
returned  to  the  window,  stared — without  see- 
ing it — at  the  magnificent  panorama  outside, 
and  then  abruptly  touched  an  electric  button. 

A  maid,  in  the  traditional  black  apron,  re- 
sponded to  the  summons. 

"Adela,  what  time  is  it,  exactly?  This 
clock  has  stopped." 

"Precisely  a  quarter  to  ten,  madam." 

"Dr.  Colpus  has  not  come?" 

"No,  madam." 

"Tell  Sims"— Mrs.  Cavalossi  bit  her  lips— 
"to  go  down  to  the  hotel  entrance  and  wait  for 
him  and  bring  him  up  to  me,  the  instant  he 
arrives.  Then  let  me  have  my  gloves  and  the 
sunshade  that  came  yesterday  from  Doucet's. 
Then  go  and  ask  Mrs.  Drew  to  be  good 
enough  to  stay  in  her  room  till  I  send  for  her." 


12        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Yes,  madam." 

Adela  withdrew. 

But  the  door  had  scarcely  closed  behind 
her  before  it  opened  again,  and  she  came  in  to 
announce: 

"Dr.  Colpus." 

The  visitor  was  an  erect,  slight,  active  man 
of  advanced  middle  age.  His  hair  and  long 
moustache  were  grey.  He  wore  a  faultless 
travelling  suit  of  grey,  to  match  the  moustache, 
and  seemed  out  of  breath. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  advanced  to  him  suavely  and 
shook  hands. 

"I  will  ring  when  I  want  you,"  she  said  to 
the  maid,  and  Adela  departed.  Immediately 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  her  visitor  were  alone  the 
expression  of  her  face  changed. 

"You  said  you  would  arrive  at  nine,"  she 
said  sternly.  "Have  you  forgotten  that  in 
twenty  minutes  Arthur  Forrest  will  be  here?" 

"The  train  was  late;  it  was  late  in  leaving 
Edinburgh,  and  it  steadily  lost  ground  through 
the  night." 

"The  train!"  she  repeated  sarcastically,  as 
if  Dr.  Colpus  should  have  been  above  the 
caprices  of  railways. 

"Yes,  the  train,"  he  said,  showing  his  fine 


LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI       13 

teeth  in  a  cool,  careless  smile.  "Did  you  ex- 
pect me  to  control  the  Scotch  express?" 

She  made  a  silencing  gesture. 

"Well,"  she  exclaimed  impatiently,  "is  it  all 
right?" 

"It  is  absolutely  all  right." 

"You  have  got  the  affidavit?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  marriage  and  birth  certificates?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  are  positively  convinced  that 
there  can't  be  any  difficulty  or  mistake  of  any 
sort?" 

"I  was  positively  convinced  six  months  ago, 
dear  lady;  before  I  went  I  told  you  that  I 
regarded  this  journey  as  unnecessary.  But, 
woman-like,  you  made  up  your  mind — of 
course,  at  the  last  moment — that  it  must  be 
done;  therefore  it  was  done.  I  am  your 
humble  servant,  rather  hungry  and  distinctly 
short  of  sleep." 

"You  are  invaluable,"  she  murmured,  and 
put  her  white  hand  on  the  old  man's  arm. 
"Why,  you  look  as  fresh  as  a  boy."  She  was 
smiling  now. 

"The  toilette  accommodation  on  the  train 
was  admirable,"  he  said ;  "and,  as  you  know,  it 


14        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

is  the  passion  of  my  life  to  be  a  young  dandy. 
By  the  way,  there  is  a  matter  I  must  mention 
to  you.  Forrest,  you  say,  will  be  here  in 
twenty  minutes;  that  gives  us  twenty  minutes 
to  settle  it." 

"Settle  what?" 

*T  will  tell  you.  We  have  arranged  that  I 
shall  have  a  hundred  thousand  if  this  affair 
comes  of¥." 

"//  it  comes  off?"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  with 
an  emphasis  of  astonishment  on  the  conjunc- 
tion,    "//it  comes  oflf?     Has  it  not  come  off?" 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Colpus;  "it  has  not  yet  come 
off." 

"You  are  anticipating,  perhaps,"  his  com- 
panion sneered,  "that  our  young  friend  may 
have  an  apoplectic  stroke  in  the  street,  or  some 
cheerful  accident  of  that  kind?" 

"No,  indeed;  I  trust  our  young  friend  may 
enjoy  his  usual  health,"  the  Doctor  smiled  and 
stopped.  Then  he  added,  while  his  face  be- 
came suddenly  hard  and  grave  and  sinister: 
''Until " 

"Until?" 

"I  trust  our  young  friend  may  enjoy  his 
usual  health,  until " 

The  Doctor  stopped  again.     His  eyes  met 


LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI       15 

those  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Cavalossi  in  a  pro- 
longed stare  of  profound  significance;  and  it 
was  not  the  woman's  eyes  that  quailed  in  that 
encounter. 

"Until  he  ceases  to  enjoy  his  usual  health," 
said  Mrs.  Cavalossi  imperturbably. 

"Exactly,"  said  Colpus.  "And  permit  me 
to  add,  most  precious  and  adorable  creature, 
that  you  are  the  coolest  cucumber  that  it  has 
yet  been  my  privilege  to  meet." 

"Try  not  to  be  silly,"  was  her  only  reply. 
"Then  you  agree  that  the — affair  has  come 
off?" 

"I  agree  that  it  probably  will  do.  But  sup- 
pose, for  the  sake  of  argument,  that "  he 

hesitated. 

"Well?"  she  urged  him  with  a  peevishness 
entirely  charming. 

"No  matter,"  he  said.  "We  will  be  cheer- 
ful and  optimistic  on  this  important  and  beau- 
tiful morning.  We  will  assume  that  success  is 
achieved.  We  will  sing  the  epithalamium. 
But  before  singing  the  epithalamium  of  our 
young  friend,  I  must  return  to  the  point  from 
which  I  started.  As  I  remarked,  we  have 
arranged  that  I  shall  have  a  hundred  thou- 
sand." 


i6        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

*'Yes,"  she  said. 

"I  desire  to  alter  that." 

''Alter  it,  my  good  Colpus?" 

"Precisely.  I  want  five  hundred  thou- 
sand." 

"Five  hun " 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  for 
the  second  time  that  morning,  but  now  it  was  a 
measuring  of  forces,  not  a  mutual  comprehen- 
sion. 

"In  other  words,"  said  Dr.  Colpus  lightly, 
"half  a  million." 

"I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,"  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi  replied,  with  a  curious  glitter  in  her  hazel 
eyes;  "but  really  you  must  admit  that  a  hun- 
dred thousand  is  sufficient — half  a  million 
would  be  preposterous." 

"Yes,  dear  lady,  and  I  am  in  a  preposterous 
mood." 

"Half  a  million,"  she  went  on,  as  though 
the  antique  fop  had  not  spoken,  "is  more  than 
you  are  worth." 

"It  would  leave  you  with  a  round  two  mil- 
lions," said  Colpus.  "And  after  all,  I  have 
not  been  quite  indispensable." 

"You  are  a  clever  and  unscrupulous  man," 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  said  quietly.     "I  will  go  fur- 


LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI       17 

ther  and  admit  that  you  are  an  extremely 
clever  and  unscrupulous  man.  But  there  are 
several  thousands  of  extremely  clever  and  un- 
scrupulous men  in  this  country,  while  there  is 
only  one  woman  as  beautiful  as  Sylviane,  and 
not  many  as  beautiful  as  myself.  Far  more 
than  a  clever  and  unscrupulous  man,  this  cap- 
tivating scheme  has  needed  tlie  aid  of  feminine 
loveliness,  my  dear  doctor.     Therefore " 

"Therefore  I  must  be  content  with  a  hun- 
dred thousand,  eh?" 

*'Yes;  the  sum  for  which  you  originally 
stipulated." 

''A  lady's  logic!  Yet  I  persist  in  demand- 
ing more.  The — er — remaining  portion  of 
our  scheme  will  fall  to  my  hands,  and  every 
day  I  am  more  and  more  impressed  by  the 
danger  of  it." 

"Pooh!"  she  flouted  him.  "You  managed 
well  enough  the  first  time." 

"Less  was  at  stake.  My  brain  was  cooler, 
my  hand  firmer;  and  the  man  was  older,  much 
older." 

"You  aren't  growing  nervous?"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"Do  I  look  nervous?  I  am  merely  assess- 
ing the  danger  I  run  at  its  true  value;  and  its 


i8        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

true  value  is  half  a  million — neither  more  nor 
less." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  shook  her  enchanting  head. 
A  shade  of  anger  flitted  across  the  man's  face. 

"You  think  I  am  your  adorer,"  he  said 
bitterly.  "I  am;  I  have  alw^ays  been,  and  I 
shall  always  be,  your  adorer.  In  Hades, 
whither  we  are  both  bound,  I  shall  still  adore 
you.  But  I  am  not  your  blind  instrument;  I 
am  not  the  sentimental  old  fool  you  take  me 
for,  Marie.  I  say  that  you  shall  yield  to  my 
demand.  I  will  force  you."  His  tone  was 
restrained,  enigmatic. 

"Force  me?" 

"Yes." 

Her  answer  was  to  approach  him  and  put  a 
long,  thin,  caressing  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Do  not  speak  like  that,  my  friend,"  she 
murmured,  after  a  pause;  "it  pains  me.  You 
are  short  of  sleep,  rather  hysterical." 

He  laughed  the  laugh  of  the  conqueror. 

"My  half-million?"  he  queried. 

She  moved  away  and  sat  down,  and  he  fol- 
lowed her. 

"You  shall  have  it,"  she  said  at  length,  very 
quietly. 

"You  admit  that  I  deserve  it?" 


LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI       19 

"I  admit  it." 

'Then  I  kiss  your  hand." 

And  bending,  with  a  grace  infinitely  elabo- 
rate, he  did  so;  it  was  a  fit  climax  to  a  mighty 
transaction.  They  began  to  speak  of  trifles, 
these  two  who  were  playing  for  millions  that 
had  been  heaped  up  by  the  dead.  After  all, 
provided  the  millions  are  within  grasp,  it  is  as 
easy  to  play  for  a  million  as  for  a  thousand  or 
a  hundred,  or  for  love.  A  million  of  money 
is  not  so  very  awe-inspiring  when  you  look  it 
steadily  in  the  face.  Ask  any  millionaire  (if 
you  happen  to  enjoy  the  acquaintance  of  such 
a  person),  and  if  he  is  truthful  he  will  tell 
you  that  the  more  intimately  he  becomes  ac- 
quainted with  the  length  and  breadth  and  the 
specious  magnificence  of  a  million,  the  less  he 
thinks  of  it.  He  will  tell  you  that  it  falls  far 
short  of  his  youthful  dreams  of  it. 

"A  lovely  day!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cavalossi, 
relapsing  into  the  amiable  banality  which  is  a 
relief  even  to  the  greatest  minds  after  a  period 
of  stress  and  strain.  They  stood  together  at 
the  window,  enjoying  the  prospect. 

"Yes,"  Dr.  Colpus  agreed.  'T  saw  the 
dawn  from  the  tail  of  the  Scotch  express,  and 
I  said  to  myself:     'This  will  be  a  perfect  day 


20        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

for  Sylviane.'  "  He  smiled  sweetly,  and  she 
caught  his  glance. 

"In  the  matter  of  the  cucumber,  to  which 
you  referred  a  few  minutes  since,"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi,  *'I  am  proud  to  yield  to  you.  I 
may  be  cool,  but  you  are  ice.  Look,  at  that 
cart,  by  the  way;  there'll  be  an  accident!" 

An  ice-cart  was  lumbering  down  the  Em- 
bankment, and  the  driver  had  turned  the  heads 
of  the  two  great  horses  towards  the  side  of 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  a  drinking-trough. 
According  to  the  invariable  custom  of  London 
carters,  he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  look 
behind  before  swerving.  On  this  occasion  a 
hansom-cab  happened  to  be  overtaking  him 
on  the  left.  The  cabby  tried  to  avoid  a  col- 
lision, but  it  was  too  late.  The  cab-horse 
charged  with  full  force  into  the  glossy  side  of 
the  near  horse  of  the  ice-cart,  and  rebounded 
from  that  immense  bulk  as  a  dog  might  re- 
bound after  aiming  at  an  elephant.  The  cab- 
horse  staggered  against  the  horse-trough,  and 
a  shaft  was  broken,  but  no  further  harm  was 
done.  The  ruffled  cabby  descended  from  his 
box,  evidently  emitting  quaint  and  multitudi- 
nous oaths,  and  a  young  man  at  the  same  mo- 
ment emerged  from  the  interior  of  the  cab, 


LOVELY  MRS.  CAVALOSSI       21 

and  stepped  on  to  the  pavement.    With  an 
involuntary  movement,  Mrs,  Cavalossi  grasped 
the  hand  of  Dr.  Colpus. 
"God!"  she  whispered,  "it  is  he!" 
''He  seems  unhurt,"  said  the  excellent  doc- 
tor. 

"He  might  have  been  killed and  then!" 

"Yes,  my  angel,"  the  Doctor  remarked,  "let 
this  be  a  lesson  to  you.  Not  long  since  you 
spoke  of  our  affair  as  accomplished;  but  for 
our  inveterate  good  luck,  that  clumsy  carter 
might  have  unconsciously  ruined  the  beautiful 
edifice  that  we  have  erected  with  so  much 
care." 

The  young  man  out  of  the  hansom  was 
seen  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  his  cabby. 
Then  he  strode  forward  towards  the  hotel. 


CHAPTER  II 

SYLVIANE  CLOSES   HER   EYES  ONCE 

"Mr.  Forrest,"  a  servant  announced  a  few 
minutes  later. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  Dr.  Colpus  exchanged 
an  instant's  glance,  and  then  the  young  man, 
who  was  the  pivot  of  the  drama  about  to  be 
enacted,  entered  the  room.  Arthur  Forrest 
was  aged  about  twenty-five,  not  very  tall,  and 
not  very  firmly  built,  and  with  the  slightly  em- 
barrassed manner  of  ten  contracted  by  studious, 
solitary  people.  He  had  the  student's  face, 
with  possibly  a  trace  of  the  poet's  superadded 
— grave,  inquiring,  kindly,  and  lighting  up  at 
moments  into  a  quick  smile  of  appreciation  or 
enthusiasm.  Like  the  doctor,  he  was  dressed 
for  travelling. 

*'My  dear  Arthur,"  Mrs.  Cavalossi  ex- 
claimed— and  the  welcome  of  her  manner 
seemed  to  envelop  him — "how  deeply  thank- 
ful I  am  that  it  was  no  worse!" 

"Good  morning,"  replied  Forrest  nonchal- 
antly.    "That  what  v/as  no  worse?" 

22  I 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     23 

"I  saw  your  cab  accident  just  now  from  the 
window.     You  had  a  narrow  escape." 

They  stood  together  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.     Dr.  Colpus  remained  at  the  window. 

"Oh!"  said  Forrest  lightly,  "that  was 
nothing." 

"You  are  quite  unhurt?" 

"Quite.     Not  even  concussion  of  the  brain." 

"Ah!  I  would  say  nothing  to  Sylviane  about 
this." 

"You  think  it  might  upset  her?" 

"Naturally;  to-day  she  is  likely  to  be  a  little 
nervous,  don't  you  think?"  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
smiled  at  him — a  smile  almost  maternal. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,"  Forrest  agreed. 

As  he  spoke  Adela  slipped  silently  into  the 
room,  and  handed  to  her  mistress  a  pair  of 
gloves  virginally  white.  ' 

"You  are  a  few  minutes  before  your  time, 
I  fancy,  Arthur,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"I  am  a  little  early,"  he  answered;  "but  on 
such  a  morning  is  it  to  be  wondered  at? 
Where  is  Sylviane?" 

"She  will  be  here  in  a  moment,"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi.  "Adela,  tell  Mrs.  Drew  that  we 
are  ready." 

"Sylviane  is  well?" 


24        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Did  you  ever  know  Sylviane  or  myself 
otherwise?"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi  calmly. 

"Never,"  he  said;  "but,  then,  I  have  only 
known  you  six  months." 

"It  seems  longer,"  she  said,  gently  stroking 
the  right-hand  glove  down  her  fingers  as  she 
coaxed  it  on. 

"To  me  it  is  like  a  dream,"  said  Arthur 
Forrest,  almost  in  a  whisper,  glancing  absently 
at  Dr.  Colpus,  who  had  remained  at  the  win- 
dow.    "I  can  scarcely  believe  that  all  this  is 

true — that  I  am  to Is  it  true?    Am  I,  a 

student,  with  no  connections  and  a  total  in- 
come of  four  hundred  a  year,  going  to " 

"My  dear,  precious  Arthur,  how  often  have 
I  implored  you  not  to  talk  about  money!  You 
are  aware  that  I  have  enough,  more  than 
enough,  for  Sylviane,  for  you,  and  for  myself. 
You  know  Dr.  Colpus,  I  think;  he  is  an  old 
friend  of  our  family,  and  he  has  promised  to 
come  with  us  to-day.  Doctor,  come  forward 
and  instil  into  Mr.  Forrest  some  of  that  prac- 
tical wisdom  for  which  you  are  notorious. 
An  occasion  like  this  demands  it." 

Dr.  Colpus  obediently  joined  the  other  two. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Forrest,"  he  said. 

"Thanks,"  said  Arthur. 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     25 

Then  both  men  simultaneously  turned  to- 
wards the  door,  which  had  opened.  A  young 
girl  stood  there — nothing  but  a  young  girl, 
simply  dressed  in  white,  framed  in  the  door- 
way; but  the  men  were  held  spell-bound, 
though  they  had  seen  her  many  a  time  be- 
fore. 

"God!"  exclaimed  Ardiur  under  his  breath, 
"she  is  too  beautiful!" 

Sylviane  stood  motionless  for  a  fraction  of  a 
second;  she  was  indeed  beautiful  to  a  miracle. 
Astonishingly  like  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  in  feature 
and  form,  she  yet  totally  eclipsed  the  older 
woman's  beauty.  There  was  in  her  the  unique 
grace  of  youth,  of  eighteen  years,  the  fair 
fragrance  of  silken  petals  unsullied  by  any 
breath  of  time  and  the  world.  With  a  face 
surpassing  the  perfection  of  carved  marble, 
and  a  body  slim,  lithe,  yielding  in  slight  curves 
to  every  emotion  which  passed  through  her, 
she  looked  what  she  was — the  incarnation  of 
supreme  loveliness — a  loveliness  which  was 
always  revealing  itself  anew. 

Arthur  sprang  forward  as  she  came  into 
the  room. 

"May  I?"  he  murmured. 

Her  smile  responded;  he  kissed  her. 


26        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  Dr.  Colpus  exhibited  an 
amiable  toleration  of  this  episode. 

"Is  it  time?"  asked  Sylviane,  after  she  had 
shaken  hands  with  the  Doctor.  Her  voice 
was  low,  tremulous,  sweet.  Arthur  marvelled 
at  it  anew,  as  he  had  marvelled  a  thousand 
times  before. 

"Nearly.  We  may  as  well  go,"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi. 

"The  irrevocable  is  best  done  quickly,"  re- 
marked Dr.  Colpus  impassively.  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi caught  his  eye  as  he  spoke.  She  was 
putting  on  the  left-hand  glove;  her  fingers 
violently  clenched.  Glancing  scornfully  at 
the  speaker,  she  pressed  the  electric  bell. 

"Adela,"  she  said,  "another  pair  of  gloves; 
these  have  split.     Quick,  we  are  starting." 

"But  my  breakfast,"  put  in  the  Doctor. 

"You  have  not  breakfasted?  But  why?" 
This  from  Forrest. 

"I — I  am  not  good  at  getting  up  early." 

"Very  sorry.  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
lightly;  "but  since  you  rose  late  your  breakfast 
must  be  late.     Now,  young  people." 

Going  down  to  the  ground  floor  in  the  lift 
she  chattered  gaily. 

"I  am  in  charge  of  this  exciting  expedition," 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     27 

she  said,  as  they  went  out;  ''all  must  obey  me." 

A  carriage  and  pair  was  waiting  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  hotel,  and  with  the  assistance  of 
some  half-dozen  gentlemen  in  gilded  uniform 
they  ensconced  themselves  therein. 

''You  have  that  precious  blue  paper, 
Arthur?"  Mrs.  Cavalossi  leaned  towards 
him.  He  gave  an  affirmative.  She  nodded  a 
command  to  the  footman,  and  they  drove  off 
westward,  down  the  Strand,  and  so  into  a  little 
side  street  by  Charing  Cross.  The  carriage 
stopped  before  a  shabby,  dirty  building  with  a 
brass  plate  on  the  door.  They  entered.  An- 
other group  of  four  was  just  coming  out. 

"Is  this  really  the  place?"  asked  Sylviane 
in  the  passage,  eyeing  askance  two  girls  with 
purple  feathers  in  their  hats,  one  of  whom  was 
gently  weeping. 

"Name,"  demanded  a  clerk,  who  popped 
out  from  a  room. 

"Forrest,"  said  Arthur. 

The  clerk  consulted  a  paper.  "Arthur 
Forrest  and  Sylviane  Drew?" 

"Yes." 

"This  way.  You're  early ;  but  never  mind," 
said  the  clerk  cheerfully. 

All   four  went  into   a   room  at  the  back, 


2%        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

furnished  like  an  office.  In  this  room  two 
officials  were  seated  at  a  desk.  The  clerk 
gave  information  to  his  superiors. 

"Let  the  contracting  parties  step  forward. 
Have  you  the  licence,  Mr. — er — Forrest? 
Thanks." 

The  two  officials  scrutinised  the  document 
produced. 

"There  is  surely  a  mistake  here,"  one  of 
them  said;  "Sylviane  Drew  is  described  as  a 
widow." 

The  man  looked  with  involuntary  admira- 
tion at  the  young  girl  as  she  stood  before  him, 
flushed  and  a  little  nervous. 

Dr.  Colpus  sprang  up  and  beckoned  the 
official  aside. 

"It  is  quite  right,"  he  whispered;  "Mrs. 
Drew  is  a  widow.  She  was  previously  mar- 
ried   at    the    age    of    sixteen.     A    dreadful 

tragedy If  possible  please  do  not  refer 

to  the  matter." 

The  official  waved  a  hand;  he  had  been 
a  superintendent  registrar  of  marriages  for 
twenty  years,  and  allowed  nothing  to  startle 
him. 

In  another  minute  Arthur  Clinton  Forrest 
and  Sylviane  Drew  were  man  and  wife. 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     29 

*  Witnesses,  please  to  sign,"  the  clerk  intoned 
perfunctorily. 

Dr.  Colpus  and  Mrs.  Cavalossi  went  to  the 
desk. 

^'Related  to  th'e  bride  or  bridegroom?" 
asked  the  minor  registrar. 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Colpus. 

"Related  to  the  bride  or  bridegroom?"  the 
official  repeated  mechanically. 

"I  am  the  bride's  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi. 

"The  bride's — I  beg  pardon;  what  did  you 
say?" 

"I  am  the  bride's  mother." 

"Sign  here,  please,"  was  the  laconic  re- 
sponse. But  both  registrars  looked  intently  at 
the  radiant  lady;  it  was,  indeed,  a  day  of  sur- 
prises for  them.  Later  on,  when  they  wxre 
alone,  they  actually  discussed  the  beauty  of  the 
two  women,  so  incredibly  mother  and  daugh- 
ter, who  had  invaded  their  office  that  morn- 
ing. 

"Is  it  all  over?"  asked  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"Quite  over,"  said  Dr.  Colpus;  and  the  hus- 
band and  wife  laughed,  not  without  embar- 
rassment. 

"And    I   have   not  had   to   give   a   single 


30        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

order!"   said   Mrs.    Cavalossi.     "Let   us   re- 


turn." 


''My  breakfast,"  said  the  Doctor,  genially, 
pretending  to  smack  his  lips. 

They  drove  back  to  the  hotel,  and  the  break- 
fast, served  in  the  dining-room  of  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi's  private  suite,  was  at  least  as  elaborate 
and  satisfying  as  Dr.  Colpus  had  a  right  to 
expect;  he  did,  indeed,  several  times  audibly 
pronounce  it  to  be  so.  Arthur  and  Sylviane 
had  little  to  say;  but  Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  the 
Doctor  vied  with  each  other  in  the  sprightli- 
ness  and  gaiety  of  their  conversation.  The 
meal  passed  with  the  rapidity  of  a  dream. 

"I  drink  to  the  health  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Forrest!"  said  the  Doctor  uprising,  glass  in 
hand. 

"No  speeches,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 
"So  far,  at  my  special  desire,  this  wedding  has 
been  strictly  informal,  and  I  wish  the  infor- 
mality to  continue." 

"Dear  lady,  you  desolate  me.  I  have  been 
composing  that  speech  for  the  last  twenty 
minutes;  and  now  I  am  forbidden  to  give  it 
vent!" 

Suavely  smiling,  he  clinked  glasses  with 
husband  and  wife. 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     31 

Arthur  said,  "On  behalf  of  my  wife  and  my- 
self, I  thank  you  heartily,  Doctor;"  and  then 
the  breakfast  was  over. 

"What  time  does  the  train  leave  Charing 
Cross?"  Sylviane  asked  her  husband. 

"Twelve  forty,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi  before 
Arthur  could  reply.  "You  must  leave  us  in 
thirty  minutes.  Perhaps  you  had  better  go 
and  prepare,  Sylviane.  I  have  something  to 
say  to  Arthur;  he  and  I  and  the  Doctor  will 
go  into  the  drawing-room." 

"Yes,  mamma,"  answered  Sylviane,  and  dis- 
appeared. 

"Now,  Arthur,"  began  Mrs.  Cavalossi, 
when  they  had  crossed  the  corridor  into  the 
drawing-room.  She  held  up  a  finger  play- 
fully. 

"Yes,  viaman"  he  replied,  following  her 
lead,  and  meekly  folding  his  hands  be- 
hind him.  "What  are  the  maternal  coun- 
sels?" 

"You  are  a  married  man,  Arthur." 

"I  suppose  I  am;  but  it  seems  too  good  to 
be  true. 

"You  think  so?"  she  queried;  and  Arthur 
saw  her  eyes  flash.  Instead  of  speaking  he 
nodded. 


32        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"You  will  soon  find  it  is  true  enough,"  she 
laughed. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

"Marriage  is  very  commonplace." 

"Mine  will  not  be." 

Her  eyes  flashed  again. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "But 
let  me  come  to  my  points.  You  know  all 
about  the  great  tragedy  of  Sylviane's  life — she 
was  only  sixteen  when  it  happened.  She 
seems  to  have  forgotten  it,  but  that  can  never 
be.  Watch  over  her,  Arthur.  I  know  that 
all  mothers  say  this  to  their  sons-in-law,  but 
you  are  aware  that  in  this  case  there  is  a  special 


reason." 


"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  eagerly;  "you  may  rely 
on  me,  mamanf' 

"I  know  I  can,  Arthur.  Still,  there  is  no 
harm  in  reminding  you  that  although  you  have 
married  a  widow,  you  have  also  married  a 
young  and  susceptible  girl.  And  now,  my 
second  point." 

"I  attend." 

"You  must  make  your  will." 

"Now?" 

"Certainly;  this  is  the  proper  time.  It  is 
your  duty.     Who  knows  what  may  happen?" 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     33 

"Ay!"  put  in  the  Doctor,  sententiously. 

"A  settlement  was  out  of  the  question," 
pursued  Mrs.  Cavalossi;  "I  knew  that,  and  I 
was  content.  You  were  commendably  frank 
about  your  position  when  you  asked  me  for 
Syiviane,  Arthur;  nevertheless,  you  should 
make  a  will  in  favour  of  your  wife." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Arthur.  "I 
have  an  annuity  of  four  hundred  a  year, 
which,  of  course,  ceases  at  my  death.  Shall  I 
bequeath  that  to  Syiviane?" 

She  raised  a  hand  as  though  in  plaintive 
feminine  appeal. 

"Don't  make  fun  of  your  poor  mother-in- 
law.  You  might  possess  property  later  on;  it 
is  even  conceivable  that  you  might  earn  some- 
thing," she  smiled,  "though  I  fancy  your  pro- 
fession of  art  criticism  is  not  an  excitingly 


remunerative  one." 


"True,"  said  Arthur,  sticking  his  lips  grimly 
together.  "But  I  will  leave  to  Syiviane  all 
that  I  have  or  ever  shall  have." 

"That  is  what  I  want — here  is  a  pen;  there 
isn't  much  time." 

"What  do  I  write?"  said  he,  sitting  down 
with  due  solemnity. 

"Write  as  I  dictate,"  said  Dr.  Colpus,  look- 


34        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

ing  suddenly  at  Mrs.  Cavalossi.  ''I  have 
witnessed  many  wills,  and  I  know  the  form 
well.     Are  you  ready?" 

"Ready,"  said  Arthur,  with  poised  pen. 

'^This  is  the  last  will  of  me,  Arthur  Clinton 
Forrest.  I  bequeath  all  my  property  of  what- 
soever nature  to  my  wife,  Sylviane.  Dated 
this  20th  day  of  June,  189 — ." 

"Is  that  all?"  the  testator  inquired,  rather 
surprised. 

"That  is  all,"  said  the  Doctor,  "except  the 
witnessing,  which  is  rather  important;  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  and  I  v^^ill  attend  to  that.  Sign  it 
first,  please." 

It  appeared  as  if  Dr.  Colpus  had  taken 
charge  of  the  proceedings. 

"Listen,  Sylviane,"  Arthur  called  out  from 
the  table  a  moment  afterwards,  when  his 
beautiful  wife  entered  the  room,  ready  for  de- 
parture. "Listen  to  my  will.  X  Arthur 
Clinton  Forrest,  bequeath  all  my  property  of 
whatsoever  nature  to  my  wife,  Sylviane.''  So 
that,  if  I  die  to-morrow " 

He  stopped  in  alarm,  suddenly  realising 
what  he  had  done. 

The  girl  had  sunk  back  into  a  chair  with 
an  inarticulate  cry. 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     35 

"Arthur,  how  could  you?"  whispered  Mrs. 
Cavalossi. 

"Do  you  forget  that  poor  Drew  died  the 
day  after  they  were  married?"  said  Dr.  Col- 
pus,  with  curious  calm. 

"Sylviane!  forgive  me!"  Arthur  exclaimed, 
and  took  her  in  his  arms.  In  a  moment  or  so 
the  incident  was  over,  and  Sylviane  had  per- 
fectly recovered  her  composure. 

"How  stupid  of  me!"  she  said,  smiling. 
Nevertheless  there  was  a  certain  chill  gloom 
as  the  pair  began  to  make  their  farewells, 
and  not  all  Dr.  Colpus's  professional  aplomb 
could  disperse  it.  Arthur  regarded  the  thing, 
in  spite  of  himself,  as  an  omen  of  evil. 

"Good-bye,  Sylviane,  good-bye,"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi,  kissing  her  daughter  twice  on  the 
cheek.  "Good-bye,  Arthur.  Be  very  happy; 
and  write  soon,  both  of  you — recollect  that  I 
shall  be  lonely." 

"Good-bye!" 

"Good-bye  and  good  luck!"  Dr.  Colpus 
was  shaking  hands  and  bowing  with  wonder- 
ful industry. 

"Sylviane!"  Mrs.  Cavalossi  called  her 
daughter  aside.  "One  word" — she  bent  to 
whisper  in  the  girl's  ear;  "you  will  receive  the 


36        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

letter  at  Montreux.  I  may  send  Sims  with  it; 
one  must  be  dramatic.     You  understand?" 

For  answer  the  girl  closed  her  eyes  once. 

Then  husband  and  wife  were  gone;  the 
honeymoon  had  commenced. 

"I  carried  it  through  nicely,  didn't  I?"  said 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  subsequently  to  Dr.  Colpus. 

"The  affair  was  arranged  perfectly,"  an- 
swered the  Doctor.  "Shall  I  take  charge  of 
the  young  man's  will?" 

"I  won't  trouble  you,  thanks  all  the  same," 
said  Mrs.  Cavalossi;  "I  can  keep  it  safe." 

"Why  did  you  marry  them  in  a  registry 
office?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"Oh!  I  hardly  know,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 
"I  suppose  I  had  reasons." 

"You  were  always  sentimental,"  Dr.  Colpus 
rallied  her. 

"I  think  you  will  find,  my  good  friend,"  she 
retorted,  "that  I  am  sentimental  only  in  mat- 
ters of  sentiment." 

"Then  you  regard  this  marriage  as  a  matter 
of  sentiment?" 

"I  regard  the  particular  form  of  its  celebra- 
tion as  a  matter  of  sentiment." 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  courteously  hiding  a 
yawn,  "all  women  are  alike  in  this.     It  is  a 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     37 

curious  thing — the  psychology  of  the  feminine 
mindl" 

"You  are  not  a  woman.  You  have  never 
been  married;  therefore  you  cannot  under- 
stand. I  did  not  care  to  see  my  daughter 
married  in  a  church;  it  would  not  have  been 
decent.  You  have  no  sense  of  the  proprie- 
ties." 

"The  lamented  Mr.  Drew  married  your 
daughter  in  a  church." 

"Yes ;  but  I  regret  it." 

"A  wedding "  began  the  Doctor. 

"My  dear  and  excellent  Colpus,"  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  interrupted  him,  "why  will  you  harp 
on  the  subject?" 

"Cannot  you  guess?"  he  said. 

"No — since  the  affair  is  over." 

"I  will  tell  you,  then."  He  cleared  his 
throat,  stood  up  and  walked  about  the  room. 
"Have  you  not  noticed,  Marie,  that  one  wed- 
ding often  begets  another?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean,"  he  continued,  "that  the  sight  of 
Mr.  Forrest's  connubial  bliss  makes  me  en- 
vious of  that  unexceptionable  bridegroom." 

"Well?" 

"Marie,  let  me  entreat  you  to  be  sentimental. 


38         THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

Marry  me — I  love  you,  for  your  beauty  and 
for  your  sins.  Have  I  not  worshipped  long 
enough  at  the  outer  shrine,  unrewarded?" 

"It  was  because  you  loved  me,  I  suppose," 
she  remarked  with  satiric  emphasis,  "that  you 
haggled  with  me  this  morning  like  a  very 
Jew?" 

"My  dear  girl,  one  does  not  haggle  over 
half  a  million.  One  haggles  over  half  a 
crown;  but  where  half  a  million  is  concerned 
we  call  it  negotiation.  Besides,  I  only  hag- 
gled in  order  to  prove  to  myself  that " 

"What?" 

"That  I  could  twist  you  round  my  little 
finger;"  he  held  up  that  appendage  and  shook 
it  at  her. 

"You  flatter  yourself,  my  Colpus;  no  man 
could  ever  influence  me." 

"I  can,  sim.ply  because  you  love  me.  You 
have  loved  me  since  you  were  sixteen,  Marie, 
since  I  first  met  you  in  Berlin  at  the  house  of 
that  pompous  ambassador  to  whose  children 
you  were  governess.  I  was  poor  then — I  am 
not  very  rich  now." 

"But  you  expect  to  be  rich  shortly,"  she  put 
in,  caustically. 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     39 

"I  was  poor  then,"  he  resumed,  with  a  hint 
of  seriousness.  "And  it  was  really  very 
chivalrous  and  unselfish  of  me  to  assist  in  your 
marriage  with  the  second  secretary  of  the 
Italian  legation.  Truly,  I  don't  know  why  I 
did  it;  in  those  days  I  must  have  been  a  per- 
fect saint.  I  might  just  as  well  have  married 
you  myself." 

"And  doomed  us  both  to  a  life  of  poverty," 
she  added. 

"We  should  soon  have  acquired  riches,  you 
and  I,"  he  said. 

"In  those  days" — she  looked  at  him  firmly 
— "I  had  not  learnt  to  be  unscrupulous." 

He  hummed  a  fragment  of  an  air,  and  then 
said  lightly:  "You  have  never  told  me,  by 
the  way,  the  circumstances  of  Signor  Cava- 
lossi's  death." 

"My  husband  died  of  failure  of  the  heart's 
action,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  voice. 

"H'm!  Every  one  does,"  he  commented; 
and  then  went  on,  as  though  to  dismiss  a  too 
delicate  subject:  ^'What  a  pity  I  lost  sight  of 
you  for  twelve  years!  we  might  have  achieved 

so  much  in  that  time Had  I  but  known 

you  were  a  widow  1" 


40        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

She  gazed  at  the  window  in  thought.  "We 
met  soon  enough,"  she  said,  reflectively;  "you 
are  my  evil  genius." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "and  there  is  only  one  way 
of  exorcising  me — by  marriage.  Be  serious, 
Marie;  be  sentimental,  be  kind — be  mine!" 
His  mild  voice  rose  in  a  discreet  crescendo  of 
appeal. 

"Am  I  not  yours  in  soul,  if  not  in  body?" 
she  murmured. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said ;  "you  know  it."  He 
bent  his  face  towards  hers. 

"As  for  me,  I  hate  you  I"  Her  eyes  were 
lifted  to  his,  he  saw  that  they  were  full  of 
tears.  "Once,  perhaps,  I  loved  you,  but  now 
I  hate  you;  and,  to  save  my  soul  from  perdi- 
tion, I  would  not  marry  you." 

Never  before  had  he  seen  the  least  trace 
of  moisture  in  the  pearl-shaped  orbs  of  Mrs. 
Cavalossi.  He  stopped  at  the  sight  of  them, 
as  one  stops  who  comes  suddenly  to  the  edge 
of  a  precipice. 

"That  is  my  misfortune,"  he  answered  her, 
in  a  grave,  conciliatory  tone;  "my  misfortune, 
not  my  fault.  Dutiful  as  ever,  I  submit  to 
remaining  in  the  outer  shrine."  And,  kissing 
his  hand,  he  walked  out  of  the  room. 


SYLVIANE  CLOSES  HER  EYES     41 

As  soon  as  he  had  departed  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
rang  the  bell  for  her  maid. 
"Adela,"  she  said,  ^'we  leave  here  to-mor- 


row." 


"Yes,  madam." 

"Send  Sims  to  me  in  half  an  hour." 

"Yes,  madam." 

"And  get  me  a  liqueur  of  cognac  and  my 
Russian  cigarettes." 

"Yes,  madam." 

As  she  lighted  a  cigarette  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
remarked  to  the  match,  "He  is  right,  and  he 
knows  it.  I  am  madly  in  love  with  him,  and 
I  would  give  a  million  not  to  be  so." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS 

Arthur  Forrest  and  his  wife  had  been 
married  three  weeks.  After  a  tour  in  the 
Austrian  Alps  they  had  gone  on  to  the  Hotel 
Splendide  at  Montreux,  in  order  to  enjoy  for  a 
day  or  two  the  charms  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva. 
It  was  a  cloudless  July  morning.  Arthur  had 
just  finished  an  English  breakfast,  and  he  was 
possessed  by  that  profound  feeling  of  satis- 
faction which  only  an  English  breakfast  can 
produce.  Sylviane  had  left  the  table,  and  was 
reclining  in  an  easy  chair.  She  complained 
of  fatigue ;  they  had  spent  most  of  the  previous 
day  in  a  rather  complicated  railway  journey. 
As  she  sat  there,  languidly  smiling,  enveloped 
in  a  confection  of  blue  silk  and  white  chiffon, 
her  exquisite  face  showing  the  flushed  pallor 
of  a  wild  rose,  Arthur  examined  her  with  a 
gaze  so  searching,  so  intent,  that  she  moved 
uneasily  under  it. 
*'What  is  the  matter?"  she  said. 

42 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS    43 

"Nothing  whatever,  dearest;  but  if  your 
face  is  within  sight  I  must  look  at  it." 

The  first  part  of  this  statement  was  not 
entirely  truthful.  Something  was  the  matter, 
but  that  something  was  so  slight,  so  elusive, 
that  Arthur  was  almost  justified  in  calling  it 
nothing.  The  fact  was  that,  though  Arthur 
loved  his  marvellous  wife  deeply,  he  was,  so  to 
say,  mystified  by  her;  her  temperament  was 
a  labyrinth  in  which  his  soul  lost  itself.  He 
reflected  that  this  had  been  so  since  his  first 
meeting  with  her  six  months  ago.  That  meet- 
ing had  occurred,  curiously  enough,  at  the 
house  of  a  high  official  of  the  British  Museum, 
a  scholar  with  whom  Arthur  was  on  friendly 
terms,  and  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  visit- 
ing. At  an  "At  Home"  given  by  that  gentle- 
man Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  her  daughter  had 
been  present,  and  Arthur,  not  unnaturally, 
was  fascinated  at  once.  Impelled  by  a  sudden 
passion  of  admiration,  he,  who  had  hitherto 
considered  women  as  being  outside  his  sphere, 
had  audaciously  requested  permission  of  these 
two  ladies  to  call  on  them,  and  the  permission 
had  been  granted  with  a  welcoming  gracious- 
ness  which  positively  astonished  him.  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  had  told  him  that  they  were  staying 


44         THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

at  the  Hotel  Cecil  for  the  season,  that  they 
travelled  about  a  great  deal,  had  no  settled 
home,  and  very  few  friends.  Subsequently 
Arthur  inquired  from  his  friend  of  the  British 
Museum  how  he,  whose  instincts  were  not 
remarkably  social,  had  come  to  number  this 
wonderful  mother  and  daughter  among  his 
friends.  The  official  said  that  he  did  not 
number  them  among  his  friends,  that  they 
had  been  invited  by  his  wife,  who  had  met 
them  at  a  dance  at  the  Hotel  Cecil.  Arthur 
found  that  his  friend  had  not  even  noticed 
anything  extraordinary  about  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
and  Sylviane.  He  attributed  this  to  the  man's 
notorious  absorption  in  Egyptian  sculpture, 
upon  which  subject  he  happened  to  be  the 
greatest  authority  in  the  world. 

The  acquaintance  thus  begun  had  grown 
at  a  rapid  pace.  Arthur  found  the  two  ladies 
installed  in  one  of  the  luxurious  suites  of  the 
great  hotel  on  the  Embankment.  Obviously 
their  means  were  so  large  as  to  be  practically 
unlimited;  they  had  a  retinue  of  their  own 
servants,  who  lived  in  the  hotel.  Arthur  was 
by  no  means  a  gastronomical  expert,  but  he 
felt  sure  that  their  cuisine,  apparently  simple, 
and  their  wines,  never  more  than  one  at  a  meal. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OP  MR.  SIMS    45 

were  absolutely  of  the  unsurpassable  first 
grade.  Nevertheless,  the  pair  were  of  quiet 
tastes.  Apparently  they  did  not  go  out  much, 
and  there  was  never  the  slightest  ostentation. 
It  came  to  pass  that  Arthur  got  into  a  habit  of 
dining  with  them  tete-a-tete.  Sometimes  they 
would  go  to  the  theatre  together.  Soon  tlie 
young  man  was  upon  terms  of  intimacy.  He 
never  attempted  to  disguise  his  sentiments 
towards  Sylviane — disguise  would  have  been 
foreign  to  his  nature;  and  since  both  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  and  Sylviane  herself  encouraged, 
rather  than  restrained,  his  candour  in  this  re- 
spect, he  placed  no  bridle  upon  his  galloping 
passion.  He  had  dared  to  fall  in  love  with  the 
loveliest  woman  he  had  ever  seen — a  creature 
surrounded  by  all  the  graces  of  environment 
which  wealth  can  bestow — and  certainly  so 
far  his  love  had  not  been  scorned.  It  seemed 
incredible,  but  since  the  fact  stared  him  in  the 
face,  he  accepted  it — and  went  on. 

One  night  he  took  an  opportunity  to  tell 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  that  he  was  a  poor  man  of  no 
particular  family,  who  had  done  nothing  all 
his  life  but  travel  through  Europe  seeing  pic- 
tures and  writing  about  them,  and  that  his 
highest  ambition  was  to  write  a  monumental 


46        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

work  on  die  art  galleries  of  Europe.  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  had  calmly  given  him  to  understand 
that,  as  for  her,  though  she  had  wealth,  she 
attached  no  real  importance  to  either  wealth 
or  birth. 

Within  the  next  week  Arthur  had  proposed 
to  Sylviane  and  been  accepted. 

The  whole  thing  was  like  a  dream  to  him, 
some  vision  from  which  one  wakes  to  the  hard 
reality  of  prosaic  life.  But  he  had  not  both- 
ered about  any  possible  waking;  he  had  ceased 
to  be  interested  in  anything  save  Sylviane. 
The  young  girl,  with  the  tragic  history  of  her 
first  marriage  behind  her,  passionately  at- 
tracted him  as  an  enigma  at  once  bewildering 
and  delicious.  The  succession  of  her  moods 
was  infinitely  various.  At  one  moment  she 
would  be  the  very  incarnation  of  some  early- 
Tennysonian  heroine ;  it  was  then  that  he  could 
peer  into  the  recesses  of  her  soul  and  divine 
the  secret  therein.  At  the  next  all  was 
changed;  her  eye  hardened,  she  would  utter 
some  cynical  commonplace  in  her  mother's 
manner,  and  Arthur  withdrew,  as  it  were, 
baffled.  And  yet  even  at  these  instants  he 
felt  that  there  was  something  else  behind  and 
beneath  the  assumption  of  mere  worldliness. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS    47 

He  abandoned  the  puzzle,  contenting  him- 
self with  the  sweet  certainty  of  his  love. 
Then  he  would  take  it  up  once  more,  and  aban- 
don it  again.  Finally,  he  had  said  to  himself 
that  when  they  were  married  her  spirit  would 
bare  itself  to  his,  and  this  mysterioiis  veil 
hanging  between  them  be  rent  for  ever. 

The  veil,  however,  had  not  been  rent.  He 
loved  her,  his  love  daily  increased;  but  she 
was  a  riddle  to  him,  adorable,  unique,  intoxi- 
cating— but  a  riddle.  It  was  the  conscious- 
ness of  this  that  slightly  disturbed  him  as  he 
gazed  at  her  that  morning  in  the  hotel  at 
Montreux. 

Presently  she  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

"Do  come  and  look,  Arthur,"  she  said,  with 
a  sigh  of  pleasure.     He  went  to  her  side. 

The  immense  lake,  an  ocean  of  rippling 
blue,  lay  extended  at  their  feet,  tremulous  in 
the  clear  sunshine.  The  sky  had  no  cloud. 
Far  away  was  an  indistinct  line  topped  here 
and  there  with  glittering  white  patches — the 
snow-capped  Alps.  A  few  coloured  sails 
moved  slowly  across  the  water,  and  almost  as 
slowly  the  great  lake-birds  circled  to  and  fro 
past  the  hotel  windows  asking  to  be  fed.     It 


48        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

was  a  scene  that  would  have  made  a  brewer 
sentimental  or  a  stockbroker  write  poetry. 
Sylviane  yielded  herself  to  its  influence.  She 
never  talked  much,  and  she  did  not  talk  now. 
She  turned  her  amazing  eyes  upon  Arthur, 
and  took  his  hand. 

Together  they  went  out  on  to  the  balcony. 
Down  below  people  were  walking  about. 

*'Why,"  she  cried  suddenly,  "there  is  Sims, 
of  all  folks  in  the  world."  She  dropped 
Arthur's  hand;  all  was  changed. 

*'Sims?"  said  Arthur. 

"Yes,  you  know,"  she  answered  impatiently, 
"my  mother's  invaluable  courier.  He  is  com- 
ing here;  something  has  happened." 

"I  hope  nothing  is  wrong." 

"Wrong  I  Of  course  not.  It  is  one  of 
mamma's  whims,  I  know  perfectly  well.  I 
shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  she  had  sent 
from  London  just  to  inquire  after  our  healths. 
You  don't  know  mamma,  Arthur;  she  is 
capable  of  being  very  extraordinary."  The 
girl's  voice  was  strangely  hard. 

"If  she  has  sent  Sims  merely  to  say  'How 
are  you?'  to  us,  she  certainly  is,"  agreed 
Arthur.  "Shall  we  go  downstairs  and  meet 
the  man?" 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS    49 

"Let  us  stay  here;  he  will  be  knocking  at 
our  door  in  a  moment,  you  will  see,"  said 
Sylviane;  "Sims  never  loses  time." 

Sylviane  was  right.  Sims,  having  ascer- 
tained their  number,  without  an  instant's  delay 
was  upon  them.  He  knocked  and  entered, 
and  with  a  gentle,  low  "Good  morning, 
madam;  good  morning,  sir,"  presented  a  letter 
to  Sylviane.  Sims  was  dressed  in  navy  blue, 
with  a  black  necktie;  he  looked  the  perfection 
of  calmness  and  sinister  discretion. 

"You  have  come  direct  from  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi?"  Arthur  asked  him,  amused  at  the  man's 
air  of  having  done  nothing  but  what  was  en- 
tirely usual. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Travelled  fast?" 

"Moderately,  sir." 

"Is  Mrs.  Cavalossi  quite  well?" 

"My  mistress  enjoys  her  accustomed  health, 


sir." 


Sylviane  finished  the  letter  with  a  smile. 
"The  answer  is  'Yes,'  Sims." 
"I  thank  you,  madam.     Good  morning." 
Sims  was  gone. 

"W^ll,"     laughed     Arthur;     "of     all     the 
quaint " 


50        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Listen,"  said  Sylviane,  interrupting  him. 
"It  is  rather  startling  after  all.  This  is  what 
mamma  says: — 

"  'My  dear  Sylviane  and  Arthur, — Just  a 
line  to  say  that  I  have  the  most  wonderful 
piece  of  news  to  communicate  to  you — it  is  so 
wonderful  that  I  can't  write  it;  I  simply  must 
tell  it.  I  am  going  to  Folkestone  to-day,  and 
shall  stay  at  the  Metropole.  Will  you  oblige 
me  by  coming  home  via  Boulogne  instead  of 
Calais,  and  we  can  see  each  other  at  Folke- 
stone? I  long  to  see  you  both;  I  long  to  tell 
you  this  wonderful  news,  which,  by  the  way, 
concerns  Arthur  very  intimately.  I  may  just 
say  that  it  was  Dr.  Colpus  who  found  it  out, 
quite  by  accident.  In  five  days  you  will  be 
at  Folkestone,  will  you  not?  Till  then,  au 
revoir,  and  my  fondest  love. — M.  C  " 

"Concerns  me  intimately,  does  it?"  said 
Arthur. 

Sylviane  smiled  at  him  through  half-closed 
eyes. 

"Do  you  guess  what  it  is?"  he  asked  her, 
surmising  something  from  her  glance. 

"Not  a  bit.  By  the  way,  I  gave  Sims  his 
answer  without  consulting  you;  do  you  mind, 
dearest?     It  was  very  wrong  of  me." 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS     51 

She  pretended  to  be  contrite.  He  came 
over  and  kissed  her;  one  excuse  serves  as  well 
as  another  on  a  honeymoon. 

^'I  am  dying  to  know  what  it  can  be,"  Syl- 
viane  murmured.  "You  may  be  sure  that  if 
mamma  says  it's  wonderful,  it  is  wonderful." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Arthur. 

"Mamma  never  exaggerates." 

"Where  is  the  letter  dated  from?"  asked 
Arthur  suddenly;  and  they  examined  the 
missive,  their  two  heads  dangerously  close  to- 
gether. But  there  was  no  sign  of  the  place  of 
the  letter's  origin. 

"Mamma  said  she  should  leave  the  Cecil 
the  day  after  we  did,"  Sylviane  remarked; 
"and  I  thought  she  was  going  straight  to 
Folkestone.  But  here  she  says,  'I  am  going  to 
Folkestone  to-day.'  " 

"Let's  ask  Sims  where  he  came  from." 

"You  forget;  Sims  has  gone.  By  this  time 
he  will  be  half  way  across  Europe  en  route  for 
home." 

"So  he  will,  my  acute  darling."  The  fond 
youth  stroked  her  wondrous  hair. 

"I'm  sure  of  one  thing — that  mamma 
wouldn't  stay  in  London  all  this  time  by  her- 
self.    She'd  be  so  dull." 


52        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"With  Dr.  Colpus?"  Arthur  suggested  with 
a  malicious  laugh. 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  love?" 

"Dr.  Colpus  is  never  dull,  is  he?" 

"Do  you  think,  then,  that  there  is  anything 
between  mamma  and  Dr.  Colpus?" 

"I  never  meditate  on  such  matters,  Sylviane ; 
but  it  struck  me  that  the  Doctor  enjoyed  the 
occupation  of  being  a  satellite  to  your  mother." 

"Dr.  Colpus  is  nothing  to  mamma.  He  is 
a  wicked  man." 

"Quite  possibly,  my  dearest;  but  how  do 
you  know?" 

"I — I — I  feel  it,"  said  Sylviane,  blushing 
momentarily 

And  once  more  Arthur  experienced  the 
curious  sensation  of  being  baffled  by  something 
in  his  wife's  personality  which  he  could  not 
fathom. 

"You  actually  know  nothing  against  him, 
then,"  Arthur  persisted. 

Sylviane  kissed  her  spouse  full  on  the  lips; 
it  was  the  first  time  during  their  honeymoon 
that  she  had  offered  him  a  caress  unasked. 
He  thanked  her  as  a  lover  should,  and  with 
that  forgetfulness  of  all  external  things  which 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS     53 

should  invariably  characterise  the  demeanour 
of  a  lover. 

"Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  Sylviane 
appealed  to  him  gently.  "We  have  not  come 
to  Montreux  to  discuss  Dr.  Colpus." 

And  she  ran  to  the  window,  he  following. 

"The  lake  is  lovely,"  said  Arthur. 

"Suppose  we  go  for  a  sail,"  she  replied, 
taking  his  hand,  and  glancing  into  his  eyes 
with  a  girlish  timidity  that  sent  him  wild  with 
ecstasy. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they  were  afloat  on 
the  sunlit  blue,  and  Dr.  Colpus  passed  into 
oblivion. 

Yet  it  seemed  as  if  Sylviane  could  not  for- 
get her  mother's  letter,  and  since  Dr.  Colpus's 
name  occupied  an  important  position  in  the 
letter,  that  name  crept  again  into  their  conver- 
sation.    As  thus: 

"Now,  what  can  mamma's  news  be?"  Syl- 
viane burst  out  w^ithout  any  warning  or  pre- 
lude. 

Arthur  examined  her  face. 

"Suppose  we  wire  privately  to  Dr.  Colpus 
and  ask  him.  Your  mother  says  it  was  he 
who  -found  out  this  wonderful  thing." 


54        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Only  by  accident,  though,"  said  Sylviane. 

"Does  Dr.  Colpus  ever  do  anything  by  acci- 
dent?" Arthur  asked  the  surrounding  air. 

The  light  went  out  of  Sylviane's  eyes. 

"I  believe  you  know  what  the  news  is," 
Arthur  went  on.  "I  believe  you're  only  teas- 
ing me." 

"Arthur!" 

"You  look  awfully  self-conscious,  you 
kitten." 

He  smiled  fondly  at  her,  but  she  burst  into 
tears,  and  he  had  to  comfort  her. 

On  the  next  day  but  one  they  were  in  Paris, 
and  on  the  fifth  day  after  receiving  the  letter 
they  had  reached  Boulogne.  The  sea  was  a 
little  rough,  and  Sylviane  regarded  the  tiny 
tossing  Boulogne  paddle-boat  with  apprehen- 
sion. 

"Let  us  wait  till  to-morrow^"  Arthur  sug- 
gested, as  they  stood  on  the  quay. 
'  "But  mamma  is  expecting  us." 

"What  matter?     Mamma  can  wait." 

Sylviane  looked  out  to  sea. 

"I  should  prefer  to  go  to-day,"  she  said; 
"let  me  get  it  over." 

Immediately  they  went  on  board,  Sylviane 
insisted  on  disappearing  into  the  ladies'  cabin. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS     55 

To  Arthur's  argument  that  she  would  be  better 
on  deck  she  was  inflexibl}'^  adamant 

Arthur  walked  from  end  to  end  of  the  ship 
during  the  whole  voyage.  As  the  clififs  of 
England  grew  visible  to  the  eye,  his  mind  be- 
came engaged  upon  Mrs.  Cavalossi's  message. 
Sylviane  had  mentioned  it  several  times  on 
the  intervening  days.  Her  demeanour  in  the 
matter  puzzled  him.  She  insisted  that  the 
message  must  refer  to  something  of  the  highest 
importance,  something  which  meant  good  for- 
tune, and  yet  her  curiosity  seemed  to  be  list- 
less and  half-hearted.  His  own  speculations 
on  the  question  did  not  lead  him  far.  They 
pointed  in  only  one  direction,  and  that  di- 
rection, he  felt  convinced,  was  quite  impos- 
sible. 

As  he  stood  at  the  prow  of  the  boat  a  hand 
was  suddenly  laid  on  his  shoulder  from  be- 
hind. 

"Hullo,  Arthur!  What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

He  turned  round,  and  beheld  a  young  man 
of  about  twenty-five,  with  a  round,  smooth, 
boyish  face,  and  a  distinctly  boyish  laugh. 

"Hullo!"  Arthur  returned  the  salutation. 
They  shook  hands  with  energy. 


56        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

''What  have  you  been  up  to?"  asked  the 
boy  of  twenty-five. 

''Only  getting  married,"  Arthur  replied; 
and  they  fell  at  once  into  an  intimate  conversa- 
tion. 

"Who,"  inquired  the  youth,  "has  been  blind 
enough  to  your  defects  to  marry  you?" 

Arthur  laughed,  as  one  is  bound  to  laugh 
at  the  tedious  pleasantries  of  one's  intimate 
friends. 

"A  lady,"  he  said. 

"A  widow,  I  bet,"  said  the  youth. 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  fellow,"  said 
Arthur  seriously.     ' 

"No!  Not  really!"  It  was  the  youth's 
turn  to  feel  embarrassed.  "Young,  I  am 
sure,"  he  said  gallantly. 

"You  are  right  again;  she  is  eighteen." 

"Eighteen  and  a  widow!  You  are  joking, 
Arthur." 

"My  sagacious  infant,  I  have  not  yet  been 
married  long  enough  to  have  learnt  how  to 
make  jokes  at  the  expense  of  my  wife.  She 
was  first  married  at  the  age  of  sixteen — she 
was  a  wife  for  one  day  only;  the  poor  chap 
died.     Does  that  satisfy  you?" 

"Perfectly.     I  was  always  rude,  you  know, 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  IVIR.  SIMS     57 

without  meaning  to  be.  And  may  I  ask, 
without  offence,  if  this  is  part  of  your  honey- 
moon?" 

"It  is  the  last  day  of  our  honeymoon."  As 
he  uttered  the  words,  Arthur  involuntarily 
sighed. 

"How's  art-criticism  getting  on?"  inquired 
the  youth. 

"I  have  forgotten  all  about  it;  I  have  for- 
gotten that  such  a  thing  as  a  picture  exists. 
By  the  way,  you  omitted  to  congratulate  me 
on  my  marriage." 

"Did  I?  I  apologise.  Accept  my  con- 
gratulations, and  don't  think  I  am  not  de- 
lighted to  hear  your  news.  The  truth  is,  I'm 
a  bit  preoccupied  with  my  own  affairs.  I  am 
conscious  of  a  certain  desire  to  talk  about  my- 
self, and  in  trying  to  restrain  that  desire  I 
forget  the  subject  in  hand." 

"My  dear  chap,  talk  about  yourself  by  all 
means.  You  always  did  when  you  were  with 
me;  don't  lose  your  old  habits." 

The  boy  of  twenty-five  gazed  out  to  sea  for 
a  few  moments. 

"I  say,"  he  said  at  length,  "my  birthday  will 
be  here  in  a  trifle  over  two  months." 

"I    congratulate   you,"    said    Arthur.     "  I 


58        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

knew  it  wouldn't  be  long  now  before  you  came 
into  it." 

The  boy  laughed  eagerly. 

''I  come  into  //  on  the  20th  of  September 
precisely.  1  can  scarcely  believe  the  thing, 
you  know.  But  I've  made  up  my  mind  Tm 
going  to  have  a  terrific  big  show  to  celebrate 
it.  I  shall  want  you  and  Mrs.  Forrest  to 
come  down  to  Stafifordshire  early  in  October. 
You'll  come?" 

"We'll  come,  if  it's  only  to  see  what  sort  of 
an  ass  you  make  of  yourself."  Arthur  looked 
thoughtfully  at  the  harbour,  which  they  were 
now  entering.  "Yes,"  he  repeated,  "we'll  de- 
cidedly come;  it  will  enchant  Sylviane." 

"Sylviane:  is  that  your  wife?  What  a 
beautiful  name!  If  Mrs.  Forrest  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  her  name " 

"She  is  seventy  and  seven  times  more  beau- 
tiful, old  chap,  but " 

"But " 

"Well,  to  be  candid,  which  always  means  to 
be  rude,  if  she  has  experienced  any — er — un- 
pleasanmess  on  the  voyage  she  won't  want  me 
to  be  introducing  you  to  her  immediately  we 
land;  so  you'd  better  clear  ofif.  See?  You 
say  you're  staying  the  night  in   Folkestone. 


THE  ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  SIMS     59 

So  are  we;  we  shall  be  at  the  Metropole. 
Call  in  the  morning.  Where  are  you  stay- 
ing?" 

"Not  at  the  Metropole — can't  afford;  run 
dry." 

Arthur  laughed  loudly. 

"I'll  lend  you  a  tenner,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't,"  said  the  boy. 

"Then  all  this  time  you've  kept  strictly 
within  the  allowance?    No  borrowing?" 

"Strictly,"  said  the  boy,  not  concealing  his 
pride  in  the  statement. 

"I  renew  my  congratulations.  You  are  a 
prodigy." 

"But  won't  I  have  a  time  in  the  autumn!" 
was  the  emphatic  response. 

The  boat  drew  alongside.  They  shook 
hands,  with  a  "See  you  to-morrow,"  and 
Arthur  wei^t  below  to  seek  the  woman  who 
was  seventy  and  seven  times  more  beautiful 
than  her  name. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  FALLS  BELOW 
EXPECTATIONS 

"And  now,  mamma,"  said  Sylviane,  "let  us 
hear  this  wonderful  news."  Arthur  and  Syl- 
viane, with  Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  Dr.  Colpus, 
were  just  finishing  dinner  in  a  private  room  of 
the  Hotel  Metropole  at  Folkestone.  It  was 
Mrs.  Cavalossi's  custom  to  inhabit  the  private 
rooms  of  expensive  hotels.  She  told  Arthur 
that  she  adored  hotels,  that  all  the  events  of 
her  somewhat  eventful  life  had  occurred  in 
hotels,  and  that  it  was  her  full  intention  to  die 
in  an  hotel.  She  averred  that  though  hotels 
were  expensive,  they  saved  trouble;  that  if  you 
went  the  right  way  to  work  you  could  always 
get  exactly  what  you  wanted,  and  that  there- 
fore to  patronise  hotels  was  in  the  end,  for  a 
person  of  means,  the  cheapest  way  of  keeping 
a  roof  over  your  head. 

Dr.    Colpus   had   arrived   from   London — 
after  the  soup,  smiling,  dehonnaire,  and  im- 

60 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  6i 

perturbable  as  usual.  Sylviane  was  perfectly 
recovered  from  the  inconveniences  of  the 
Channel,  and  she  and  her  mother  vs^ere  gay, 
alert,  radiant,  entrancing.  By  chance  their 
dresses  were  almost  exactly  similar — of  grey 
silk  with  an  alluring  V-shaped  corsage. 
They  looked  like  sisters,  and  they  knew  it, 
and  consciously  or  unconsciously  accentuated 
the  fact  by  little  resemblances  of  speech  and 
gesture.  Arthur  sat  between  them,  with  Dr. 
Colpus  opposite.  The  extraordinariness  of 
their  amazing  beauty  had  never  struck  him 
more  impressively  than  to-night.  Yet  amid 
this  scene  of  light  laughter  and  feminine  love- 
liness, in  this  room  where  softly  shaded  can- 
dles threw  a  discreet  light  upon  half-empty 
glasses  and  exquisite  feminine  arms,  he  ex- 
perienced a  sense  of  diffidence,  even  of  appre- 
hension. He  felt  that  he  had  slipped  out  of 
his  world — the  world  of  scholarship  and  art 
and  simplicity. 

With  an  abrupt  motion  of  the  hand,  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  dismissed  the  waiter.  Then,  rais- 
ing her  glass,  she  said: 

"I  drink  to  the  news!" 

"To  the  news!"  repeated  Dr.  Colpus  and 
Sylviane. 


62        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"I  call  upon  Dr.  Colpus  to  deliver  it,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"Oh,  then,  it  is  Dr.  Colpus's  news?"  said 
Arthur. 

"Dr.  Colpus  will  relate  it.  For  myself,  I 
couldn't  possibly  remember  all  the  details;  it 
is  much  too  complicated,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 
"Moreover,  the  credit  of  the  discovery  be- 
longs entirely  to  our  dear  Doctor.  Thirdly 
and  lastly,  at  my  special  request  he  has  very 
kindly  come  down  specially  from  London  to- 
night to  meet  us." 

The  Doctor  bowed. 

"The  whole  business  is  very  extraordinary," 
he  began,  "so  extraordinary  as  to  be  almost 
incredible.  I  haven't  ceased  to  wonder  at  it 
from  the  moment  when  I  first  started  to  un- 
ravel the  thing." 

"When  was  that?"  asked  Arthur. 

"Curiously  enough,  it  was  on  the  very  after- 
noon of  your  marriage.  I  was  idling  about  in 
the  reading-room  at  the  Cecil,  when  I  picked 
up  a  back  number  of  the  Graphic — it  was 
three  years  old.  I  was  just  about  to  ask  the 
attendant  how  it  came  ther6,  when  my  eye 
caught  a  portrait  of  Carl  Peterson." 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  63 

Arthur  was  sipping  his  champagne.  He 
quietly  put  down  his  glass,  and,  drumming 
with  his  knuckles  on  the  table,  put  in : 

"You  mean  Peterson,  the  Staffordshire 
millionaire?" 

'Trecisely,"  said  the  Doctor.  "You  may 
remember  he  died  about  a  couple  of  years  ago. 
He  left  a  fortune  of  two  millions  and  three- 
quarters." 

"Heavens!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  smil- 
ing brilliantly,  "I  feel  like  a  pauper." 

''Yes,"  Dr.  Colpus  repeated,  "two  millions 
and  three-quarters.  The  fortune  was  so  large 
that  the  newspapers  printed  his  will  in  full. 
Not  that  it  was  a  long  document.  He  had 
two  sons;  one  of  them,  Carl,  the  younger,  was 
insane;  some  say  it  was  owing  to  an  unfor- 
tunate accident  to  his  mother.  Lady  Evelyn 
Peterson,  which  ultimately  resulted  in  her 
death.  But  I  fancy  there  is  queer  blood  in  the 
family.  After  providing  a  thousand  a  year 
for  the  proper  maintenance  of  Carl,  who  is 
now  dead,  the  will  proceeded  to  devise  the 
whole  of  the  remainder  of  the  testator's  prop- 
erty to  "my  eldest  son,  Arthur" — same  name 
as  your  husband's,  Sylviane." 


64        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

''Is  all  this  part  of  the  news?"  said  Syl- 
viane,  innocently.  "It  sounds  as  if  it  was  go- 
ing to  be  awfully  elaborate." 

"Yes,  it  is  part  of  the  news.  Now  for  the 
next  point.  Although  Carl  Peterson  was  a 
sort  of  public  character,  I  had  never  seen  a 
portrait  of  him  till  that  day.  I  have,  I  may 
remark,  an  extraordinary  memory  for  faces, 
and  I  instantly  said  to  myself,  "I  have  seen 
that  man  somewhere."  And  I  was  soon  able 
to  recall  the  time  and  place.  I  once  practised 
for  a  short  time  in  Edinburgh,  and  one 
night — this  must  have  been  nearly  thirty 
years  ago — a  man  knocked  me  up  and  asked 
me  to  go  to  his  wife,  who  was  dangerously 
ill." 

"What  was  the  illness?  Did  you  save 
her?"  asked  Sylviane. 

Mechanically  Arthur  put  his  hand  on  his 
wife's  arm  as  if  to  check  her. 

Dr.  Colpus  smiled  indulgently  at  the  inter- 
ruption. 

"Yes,  I  saved  her.  As  for  the  illness,  that 
night  a  son  was  born.  Now,  as  I  sat  in  the 
reading-room  at  the  Cecil,  I  was  absolutely 
sure  that  the  man  who  had  knocked  me  up 
that  night  thirty  years  ago  in  Edinburgh  was 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  65 

none  other  than  Carl  Peterson,  whose  portrait 
I  had  seen  in  the  Graphic.  Strange,  was  it 
not?" 

"Very,"  murmured  Arthur,  and  he  sipped 
again  his  champagne. 

The  Doctor  resumed : 

"Having  a  taste  for  mysteries,  and  knowing 
that,  so  far  as  the  world  in  general  was  aware, 
Carl  Peterson  had  only  had  one  wife,  a  peer's 
daughter,  I  casually  went  to  Edinburgh  and 
made  a  few  inquiries.  These  inquiries  were 
singularly  successful.  Armed  with  the  por- 
trait, I  interviewed  landladies  and  parish 
clerks,  and  I  consulted  registers,  and  within 
three  days  I  collected  positive  proof  that  Carl 
Peterson  had  lived  a  year  or  two  in  Edin- 
burgh, had  married  there,  and  had  had  a 
son." 

'Tn  his  own  name?"  asked  Arthur. 

"Not  in  his  own  name;  I  will  tell  you  the 
name  presently." 

"Tell  me  now,"  Arthur  demanded,  and 
looked  at  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"Yes,  tell  him  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi. 

"The  name  was  Forrest,  and,  to  cut  the  tale 
short,  you  are  that  son." 


66        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Oh!"   cried   Sylviane.     "Well "     She 

stopped,  gazing  at  her  mother. 

There  was  still  a  little  champagne  in  Ar- 
thur's glass.  He  calmly  poured  it  on  to  the 
tablecloth  and  set  the  glass  down.  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  laughed  at  the  odd  trick. 

"You  are  a  curious  young  man!"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi. 

Arthur  bowed. 

"You  would  infer  then,  Doctor,"  said 
Arthur,  "that  Carl  Peterson's  reputed  wife 
was  not  his  wife  at  all ;  that  Carl  Peterson  was 
a  bigamist,  and  that  the  two  sons  brought  up 
in  Staffordshire  were  not  legitimate?" 

"I  would  infer  that,"  assented  the  Doctor; 
"it  is  beyond  question.  I  know  what  consti- 
tutes legal  proof,  and  I  have  that  proof." 

"Do  you  know  why  Carl  Peterson  should 
have  deserted  his  wife  in  Edinburgh?" 

"I  do  not  know,  and  I  fancy  that  mystery 
will  be  a  mystery  for  ever.  But,  tell  me,  do 
my  facts  agree  with  your  early  recollections?" 

"They  agree  with  them  so  far  that  I  never 
knew  my  father,"  answered  Arthur,  "and  also 
that  my  mother  told  me  frankly  that  my  father 
had  disappeared." 

"Ahl"  said  the  Doctor. 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  67 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  beamed  upon  her  son-in- 
law,  disclosing  her  superb  teeth. 

"Your  mother,  I  have  been  told,  is  dead," 
said  the  Doctor. 

Arthur  signed  an  affirmative.  The  Doctor 
began  again: 

"Carl  Peterson's  will  was  proved  by  the 
executors.  It  orders  that  'my  eldest  son, 
Arthur,'  shall  not  receive  his  heritage  until  he 
attains  a  certain  age,  and  that  until  then  he 
shall  receive  an  allowance  of  only  five  hun- 
dred a  year.  Peterson  was  a  fellow  of  whims, 
but  I  can  see  some  sense  in  that  arrangement. 
By  the  way,  if  my  information  is  correct,  the 
millionaire  left  his  Edinburgh  wife,  your 
mother,  when  you  were  only  a  few  days  old?" 

"So  she  once  told  me." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Doctor  again,  "then  Carl 
Peterson  never  knew  that  you  had  been  named 
Arthur;  that,  in  fact,  by  a  not  very  remarkable 
coincidence,  he  had  two  sons  named  Arthur. 
Nevertheless,  you  and  not  the  Staffordshire 
Arthur,  are  the  'my  eldest  son  Arthur'  referred 
to  in  the  will."  Dr.  Colpus  paused.  "You 
take  it  very  calmly,"  said  he  at  length. 

The  tinkle  of  Sylviane's  bracelets  as  she 
moved  her  hand  sounded  loud  in  the  room. 


68        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"I  will  tell  you  why,"  Arthur  replied;  "I 
knew  the  whole  thing  before — 1  have  known 
it  since  the  day  my  mother  died." 

With  the  swiftness  of  lightning  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi  and  the  Doctor  exchanged  a  glance. 
Sylviane  drew  in  her  breath. 

"Since  your  mother  died?"  murmured  Syl- 
viane, repeating  Arthur's  last  phrase  almost 
mechanically. 

"My  mother's  dying  legacy  to  me  was  the 
history  of  my  father's  scoundrelism,"  said 
Arthur  bitterly.     And  then  there  was  a  pause. 

"Of  course,"  Dr.  Colpus  put  in  suavely,  "it 
is  a  subject  upon  which  you  must  feel  very 
deeply." 

"I  do,"  Arthur  agreed. 

As  the  two  conspirators  eyed  the  young 
man's  firm  and  set  lips  a  qualm  of  anxiety  and 
apprehension  crossed  their  gilded  dreams  of 
the  future.  Both  had  an  uneasy  suspicion  that 
this  art-critic,  usually  so  mild  and  simple  in 
his  ways,  might  be  capable  of  the  most  extraor- 
dinary and  disconcerting  act.  The  Doctor 
mentally  faced  this  possibility;  the  woman 
characteristically  tried  to  avoid  it,  to  pretend 
to  herself  that  it  did  not  exist. 

"We  guessed,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  69 

lossi,  "that  some  of  the  facts  which  the  Doc- 
tor had  to  place  before  you  would  give  you 
pain;  but  we  hoped" — here  she  smiled  with  a 
touch  of  roguishness — "that  the  general  effect 
of  our  news  would  be — er — joyous,  my  dear 
Arthur." 

"Your  hope  was  an  excusable  one,"  said 
Arthur  coldly,  in  a  tone  which  at  the  same 
time  implied  that  it  was  a  very  foolish  hope. 

"Forgive  my  curiosity,"  the  Doctor  picked 
up  the  conversation,  which  seemed  about  to 
languish  into  an  awkward  silence;  "but  have 
you  any  idea  why  your  father  and  your  mother 
agreed  to  part?" 

"My  father  and  my  mother  did  not  agree  to 
part,"  said  Arthur. 

"But  they  ceased  to  live  together?" 

"My  father  deserted  my  mother.  Have 
you  not  yourself  already  implied  as  much?" 

"Was  the  difference  between  them  due  to 
what  is  called  incompatibility  of  temper?" 

"There  was  no  difference;  it  happened  thus, 
so  my  poor  mother  told  me:  My  father  per- 
suaded her  that  they  were  not  legally  married ; 
he  actually  pretended  to  her  that  he  had  de- 
ceived her — he  made  himself  out  to  be  a  vil- 
lain in  the  eyes  of  the  woman  he  loved." 


70        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

There  was  another  pause.  At  least  two  of 
the  party  had  anticipated  a  pleasant,  even  a 
politely  uproarious,  evening.  They  had  imag- 
ined that  this  wonderful  news  of  Arthur's  title 
to  vast  wealth  would  be  seasoned  with  laugh- 
ter and  washed  down  with  wine;  and  lol  here 
was  an  atmosphere  of  gloom,  constraint,  and 
mystery ! 

*'You  asked  me  just  now,"  pursued  the  Doc- 
tor, "if  I  knew  why  your  father  left  your 
mother.  I  could  not  reply;  but  perhaps  you 
know  the  answer  yourself." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Arthur,  in  the  same  cold 
and  sinister  tone.  "Before  marrying  my 
mother  my  father  had  had  sentimental  rela- 
tions with  Lady  Evelyn  Hart,  but  they  had 
been  abruptly  broken  off  by  the  lady's  parents ; 
my  father  was  not  rich  enough  then  to  claim 
a  peer's  daughter.  Afterwards  Lady  Evelyn 
became  an  orphan  and  her  own  mistress,  and 
she  wrote  to  my  father,  unaware  that  in  the 
meantime  he  had  married  my  mother.  In- 
stantly my  father  conceived  the  plan  of  desert- 
ing my  mother;  of  suppressing  his  marriage 
with  her,  and  going  through  another  cere- 
mony with  Lady  Evelyn.  He  began  his  cam- 
paign of  infamy  by  pretending,  as  I  have  said, 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  71 

that  his  marriage  with  my  mother  was  not  a 
legal  one.  He  really  convinced  her  of  this, 
and  it  was  not  till  years  afterwards  that  she 
discovered  the  trick  played  upon  her.  Next 
he  told  her  that  he  was  tired  of  her,  that  she 
had  no  claim  on  him,  and  that  he  proposed  to 
leave  her.  He  offered  her  money,  which  she 
indignantly  refused.  He  called  her  a  fool, 
and  departed  in  quest  of  Lady  Evelyn.  My 
mother  was  left  penniless  in  Edinburgh,  witli 
a  child  a  few  days  old — you  see,  it  was  im- 
perative that  my  father  should  lose  no  time 
in  replying  to  Lady  Evelyn's  invitation.  The 
scheme  was  a  bold  one — it  was  bold  to  the 
point  of  rashness;  but  it  succeeded.  My  fa- 
ther, 1  fancy,  had  a  knack  of  making  things 
succeed;  it  was  this  knack,  coupled  with  his 
perfect  disregard  of  all  obligations,  save  the 
obligation  to  'get  on,'  that  left  him  with  a  for- 
tune of  over  two  millions.  In  some  ways  my 
father  was  a  great  man." 

"And  so  Mr.  Peterson  began  an  entirely 
new  life  in  Staffordshire?"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi. 

"An  entirely  new  life." 

"I  trust  your  mother  was  never  in  actual 
distress." 


72        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"She  was  never  in  actual  monetary  distress; 
Heaven  watched  over  her.  An  aunt  of  hers 
died,  and  left  this  dear  creature — who  thought 
herself  a  shamed  woman,  while  she  was  really 
a  lawful  wife — a  tolerably  large  sum  of 
money.  With  this  money  my  mother  bought 
an  annuity  on  my  life.  It  was  not  a  wise 
thing  to  do,  but  she  was  unversed  in  business 
affairs.  Had  she  been  a  little  less  simple  and 
confiding,  perhaps  Carl  Peterson  would  not  so 
easily  have  imposed  on  her." 

"You  have  our  sympathies,  Mr.  Forrest," 
said  Dr.  Colpus.  "May  the  earth  lie  lightly 
on  the  graves  of  both  your  mother  and  father 
— the  sinned  against  and  the  sinner!"  The 
Doctor  uttered  this  excellent  sentiment  with 
an  admirable  histrionic  talent.  Then  he  con- 
tinued, as  a  sort  of  after-thought:  "You  have 
told  us  that  you  were  aware  of  the  whole 
thing.  Did  you,  then,  know  the  details  of 
Carl  Peterson's  will?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Arthur  with  undiminished 
calmness,  "I  did.  Let  me  add  my  little  store 
of  facts  on  that  part  of  the  affair.  The  Staf- 
fordshire Arthur  will  be  twenty-five  years  of 
age,  and  in  a  position  to  demand  the  property 
from  the  executors,  on  the  twentieth  of  Sep- 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  73 

tember  next.  The  Staffordshire  Arthur  hap- 
pens to  be  an  acquaintance  of  mine." 

"An  acquaintance  of  yours?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Cavalossi,  obviously  startled. 

"A  friend — a  dear  friend,"  said  Arthur. 

"How  did  that  friendship  arise?" 

"We  first  saw  each  other  in  Spain,  where  I 
was  travelling  from  city  to  city  in  search  of 
pictures.  The  precise  circumstances  are  of  no 
importance.  Arthur  Peterson  confided  in  me. 
He  told  me  all  about  the  provisions  of  his 
father's  will." 

"And  you  revealed  your  identity  to  him?" 

"No,  I  did  not  reveal  my  identity  to  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  preferred  not  to  do  so.  I  may  mention 
that,  after  losing  sight  of  him  for  a  period,  I 
met  him  on  the  Boulogne  steamer  to-day;  he 
is  now  in  Folkestone.  He  will  call  here  to- 
morrow morning  in  order  to  be  introduced  to 
Sylviane.  You  thought  to  astonish  me,  Doc- 
tor.    Admit  that  I  have  astonished  you." 

But  the  Doctor  was  silent,  busy  with  the  ex- 
amination of  Arthur's  face. 

"How  piquant,"  murmured  Mrs.  Cavalossi; 
"and  how  excessively  awkward  it  will  be  for 
you,  Arthur,  to  tell  your  friend  that  that  two 


74        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

millions  and  three-quarters  will  never  be  his. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  leave  it  to  the  Doctor 
to  break  the  news  to  him." 

''The  Doctor  will  oblige  me  by  saying  noth- 
ing to  Arthur  Peterson." 

"That  is,  of  course,  as  you  wish.  But  may 
1  ask,  my  dearest  Arthur,  why  you  have  de- 
layed the  matter  so  long?  Every  day  makes 
it  more  delicate  for  you  if  this  poor  boy  is  your 
friend." 

"I  have  no  intention  of  claiming  my  father's 
fortune,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  mean  that?"  asked  Dr.  Colpus,  in 
a  low  voice;  "or  are  you  appealing  to  our 
sense  of  humour?" 

Arthur  waited  for  the  fraction  of  an  instant 
before  answering. 

"I  mean  it."  His  tones  were  absolutely 
steady. 

"Arthur!"  screamed  Sylviane  sharply, 
pointing  with  an  hysteric  movement  of  the 
hand  to  her  mother. 

The  beautiful  Mrs.  Cavalossi  had  suddenly 
risen  from  her  chair.  Her  face  was  blanched 
and  tremulous  with  passion.  The  features 
were   transformed,   and   the  eyes  shot  down 


ARTHUR'S  SURPRISE  75 

upon  Arthur  a  burning,  consuming  ray  of 
anger. 

"You  are  a  fool!"  she  gasped;  "but,  before 
heaven,  I  will  cure  you  of  your  folly!" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS  A  MILLION  IN  VAIN 

Not  only  Arthur,  but  the  imperturbable  Dr. 
Colpus  himself,  was  obviously  amazed  by  this 
outburst  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Cavalossi.  As 
for  Sylviane,  she  seemed  to  be  more  alarmed 
than  astonished — it  was  as  though  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  the  phenomenon.  The 
two  men  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
two  women,  Arthur  distinctly  amazed  and  at 
a  loss,  the  quick-witted  old  Doctor  searching 
within  his  active  brain  for  some  solution  of 
the  difficulty. 

The  atmosphere  was  tense,  electric;  each 
wondered  what  would  happen  next.  Arthur's 
eyes  showed  that  a  quarrel  might  burst  like  a 
thunder-cloud  at  any  moment.  Everything 
depended  on  the  next  words  spoken. 

Then  Mrs.  Cavalossi  smiled  exquisitely  and 
her  features  resumed  their  normal  sweetness. 

"Forgive  me,  my  dear  Arthur,"  she  said, 
*'but  the  temptation  was  irresistible;  I  could 

76 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        ^-7 

not  help  that  bit  of  acting.  But  it  appears 
that  I  startled  you  instead  of  making  you 
laugh.  Really,  I  quite  meant  you  to  laugh. 
You  ought  to  have  laughed  at  my  little  joke — 
you  who  can  so  lightly  refuse  an  offer  of 
millions." 

She  sat  down  again  and  poured  out  some 
wine. 

To  look  at  that  calm  and  smooth  face  in  re- 
pose, with  its  delicious  contours  and  charm- 
ing gradations  of  colour,  no  one  would  have 
guessed  that  it  was  capable  of  such  a  trans- 
formation as  that  through  which  it  had  just 
passed.  There  are  some  feminine  natures 
which  remain  placid  for  years,  like  the  slopes 
of  an  unsuspected  volcano,  and  then,  like  a 
volcano,  break  out  viciously  into  clouds  of 
anger  and  lava-torrents  of  vituperation.  The 
damage  done  may  be  trifling,  or  it  may  be  dis- 
astrous, but  all  in  the  vicinity  have  realised 
the  lurking  danger,  and  they  go  in  fear  of  it 
for  a  time.  In  due  course  the  danger  is  for- 
gotten again;  the  volcano  sleeps;  the  lava- 
beds  are  overgrown  with  vegetation;  the  land- 
scape smiles.  Perhaps  only  one  person  re- 
members the  past,  and  counts  the  risk  of  the 
future.     In  this  case  that  one  person  was  Syl- 


78        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

viane.  Sylviane  knew  her  mother;  not  with 
the  scientific  insight  of  Dr.  Colpus's  trained 
intelligence,  but  by  a  sheer  and  profound  in- 
stinct almost  infantile  in  its  sure  divinations. 
Sylviane  sighed  now — a  sigh  made  up  equally 
of  thankfulness  and  of  apprehension.  It  was 
as  though  she  had  once  witnessed  the  entomb- 
ment of  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii  by  Ve- 
suvius, and  the  sight  of  fire  and  smoke,  the 
sound  of  rumbling,  had  reconstituted  the  scene 
before  her  mind's  eye — an  eye  which  plainly 
perceived  the  possibility  of  further  similar 
disasters. 

Through  what  crises,  one  wondered,  had  not 
the  daughter  passed  with  her  mother  during 
the  years  of  her  earlier  girlhood! 

The  air  was  temporarily  cleared.  Sylviane 
glanced  timidly  at  her  mother,  and  then  at  her 
husband.  Dr.  Colpus  seized  the  chance,  and 
began  to  speak  in  his  low,  even,  reassuring 
voice. 

"Ah!  millions!"  he  said;  ^'people  often  talk 
of  millions  without  in  the  least  realising  what 
a  million  is,  what  it  means,  what  it  stands  for. 
Now,  Sylviane — you  permit  the  old  Doctor 
still  to  call  you  by  that  name,  eh? — have  you. 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        79 

for  instance,  any  idea  of  what  a  million 
pounds  is?" 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world,  Doctor,"  she 
answered  calmly;  and  then  added,  with  a  gaze 
suddenly  cold  and  scrutinising  upon  her  hus- 
band: "And  I  don't  believe  Arthur  has, 
either." 

Arthur  Forrest  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  have  no  practical  interest  in  millions," 
said  he;  and  it  was  obvious  that  he  was  en- 
deavouring to  look  bored  by  the  tedium  of  this 
after-dinner  interview.     "I  mean " 

"Let  me  try  to  tell  you  what  a  million  is," 
said  the  Doctor,  without  allowing  Arthur  time 
to  say  anything  further.  "A  million  pounds 
means  an  income  of  a  hundred  pounds  a  day, 
every  day  for  ever.  The  fortune  which  Carl 
Peterson  left  is  at  this  moment  increasing  by 
means  of  interest  at  the  rate  of  two  thousand 
pounds  a  week.  Think  of  that!  No  one  is 
doing  anything  to  it,  yet  it  is  mounting  up  at 
the  rate  of  ten  pounds  every  hour,  day  and 
night.  So  much  for  the  wonderful  mechan- 
ism of  interest.  The  man  who  ultimately 
handles  that  fortune  will  be  one  of  the  most 
powerful  men  in  the  most  powerful  country  in 


8o        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

the  world.  Without  any  ability  on  his  own 
part,  he  could  become  anything  he  chose,  even 
to  a  marquis.  He  could  spend  a  thousand 
pounds  a  week  and  still  save  half  his  income. 
He  could  found  hospitals,  build  art  galleries 
and  museums,  endow  libraries,  erect  magnifi- 
cent churches,  succour  the  poor  of  a  whole 
city,  and  scarcely  feel  these  outlays." 

"Is  there  anything  he  couldn't  do?"  laughed 
Arthur. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  "there  is.  He 
couldn't  spend  the  whole  of  his  income  on 
himself  and  get  value  for  it.  I  defy  any  man 
worth  nearly  three  millions,  however  expen- 
sive his  tastes,  to  spend  the  whole  of  his  in- 
come on  himself.  Unless  he  absolutely  threw 
the  money  in  the  street,  he  must  either  sup- 
port scores  of  charities  or  get  richer  and  more 
powerful  in  spite  of  himself.  That  is  why 
some  of  those  Yankees  one  hears  of — men  who 
were  worth  a  million  or  so  some  ten  years  since 
— are  worth  ten  and  twenty  millions  to-day; 
not  because  they  desired  these  extra  millions, 
but  because  they  could  not  avoid  them." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Arthur,  "that  you 
are  bringing  forward  a  very  strong  argument 
in  favour  of  my  declining  this  terrible  fortune, 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        8i 

which  would  grow  whether  I  wanted  it  to 
grow  or  not.  According  to  you,  in  a  few  years 
I  should  be  so  disgustingly,  so  oppressively 
rich  that  I  should  be  a  nuisance  not  only  to 
myself  but  to  my  friends." 

"Scarcely  to  your  friends,  Mr.  Forrest,"  the 
Doctor  smiled.  "And  as  to  becoming  a  nui- 
sance to  yourself,  if  it  is  a  bore  to  be  in  a  posi- 
tion to  realise  every  wish,  to  have  no  whim 
unfulfilled,  then  all  I  can  say  is  that  there  are 
a  number  of  people  on  this  planet  who  would 
desire  nothing  better  than  to  be  bored." 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Arthur,  as  if  to  finish  the 
matter,  "I  decided  this  question  once  and  for 
all  many  years  ago." 

The  Doctor  put  on  a  solemn  and  serious 
look. 

"Let  me  say  one  word  to  you,  Mr.  Forrest, 
in  the  presence  of  your  wife  and  of  your  wife's 
mother,"  he  began.  "I  am  an  old  man,  and 
you  will  pardon  me  for  speaking  plainly. 
You  are  young  enough  to  have  been  my  son. 
You  have  no  right  to  refuse  this  fortune.  It 
is  yours.  If  you  allow  another  to  hold  and 
enjoy  it,  you  will  be  doing  an  injustice — and 
the  worst  of  all  Injustices,  an  injury  to  your- 
self.    Vast  wealth  is  a  social  responsibility — 


82        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

no  one  has  the  right  to  shirk  it.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  the  fortune  is  yours;  know- 
ing that,  you  must  also  know  that  it  is  your 
duty  to  see  that  that  fortune  is  properly  ad- 
ministered, put  to  the  best  uses.  Apart  from 
the  question  of  your  mother's  memory " 

'T  will  thank  you,  Doctor,"  interrupted 
Arthur,  "to  leave  my  mother's  memory  out  of 
the  discussion." 

*'I  say,  apart  from  the  question  of  your 
mother's  memory,"  insisted  the  Doctor  with 
firmness,  "you  are  utterly  wrong  in  sacrificing 
this  wealth,  which  is  so  legitimately  yours, 
from  a  mere  exaggerated  notion  of  friend- 
ship." 

"Notion  of  friendship?"  repeated  Arthur. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor,  smiling  shrewdly. 
"Do  you  think  that  I  cannot  trace  your  mo- 
tives, young  man?  Here  is  this  unfortunate 
youth,  Arthur  Peterson,  brought  up  in  the  ex- 
pectation of  great,  of  exceptionally  great, 
wealth.  You,  on  the  other  hand,  were 
brought  up  differently;  you  had  no  such 
golden  vista  always  before  your  eyes.  Then, 
one  day,  you  learn  that  this  dreamed-of  wealth 
is  not  yours,  but  his.  You  are  his  friend,  you 
have  told  us  so;  you  love  him — perhaps  he 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        83 

has  some  claim  on  your  gratitude.  And  so, 
with  superb  unselfishness,  you  say  to  yourself: 
'The  blow  would  be  too  cruel  for  him.  I 
don't  want  the  money.  I  will  never  tell  him 
that  it  is  mine.'  That,  Mr.  Forrest,  is  what 
you  said  to  yourself.  I  admire  you  for  it; 
but,  nevertheless,  such  a  course  is  inexcusable. 
Moreover,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  have  not 
yet  grasped  what  it  is  that  you  are  doing." 

"How  did  you  learn  all  this?"  said  Arthur, 
without  stirring  in  his  chair. 

"It  seems  plain  to  me,"  answered  the  Doc- 
tor. 

"Then  permit  me  to  say,  Doctor,  that  you 
are  totally  mistaken  in  your  assumptions. 
Considerations  of  friendship  never  entered  my 
head;  I  was  governed  in  my  action  by  some- 
thing far  deeper." 

"You  despise  money — is  that  it?"  The 
suave  Doctor  almost  sneered. 

"If  you  care  to  put  it  that  way,  I  do,"  said 
Arthur. 

The  two  men  had  hitherto  had  the  conver- 
sation to  themselves,  but  now  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
could  keep  silence  no  longer. 

"If  you  forget  yourself,  Arthur,"  she  said, 
"you  should  not  forget  my  daughter." 


84        THE  GATES  OF.  WRATH 

She  was  calm,  but  only  with  an  effort. 

Arthur  looked  at  his  wife,  whose  face  was 
impassive,  illegible,  like  a  lovely  mask. 

''As  regards  money,"  he  said,  "I  owe  noth- 
ing to  Sylviane.  I  did  not  marry  her  under 
false  pretences.  You  knew  my  income.  You 
said  you  would  give  Sylviane  as  much  as  I 
had.  I  agreed.  That  made  a  total  of  eight 
hundred  a  year.  What  more  can  we  need? 
These  millions — what  are  they  to  me?  I  have 
my  life-work  to  perform,  and  not  all  the  mil- 
lions of  Europe  will  help  me  to  perform  it." 

"Your  life-work?"  queried  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur. 

"And  may  we  respectfully  inquire  what 
that  is?" 

"I  think,  dear  Mrs.  Cavalossi,"  he  replied 
suavely,  but  with  a  formidable  calmness,  "I 
think  that  you  and  I  have  several  times  dis- 
cussed the  book  about  the  origins  of  Italian  art 
upon  which  I  am  engaged;  more  than  once 
you  have  been  good  enough  to  speak  quite  en- 
thusiastically concerning  it.  You  have  en- 
couraged me  to  continue — you  have  said  that 
such  a  labour  as  I  have  in  hand  was  worth  the 
doing,  and  that  it  would  be  of  permanent  bene- 
fit to  the  artistic  life  of  the  world." 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        85 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  somewhat  alter- 
ing her  tone,  "that  is  true  enough.     But " 

The  Doctor  broke  in:  "Of  course  that 
might  be  a  lifework  for  a  poor  man;  but  a 
rich  man,  a  very  rich  man — one  of  the  richest 
men  in  England — should  surely  undertake 
something  of  wider  import,  something  of 
larger  benefit  to  humanity." 

"You  forget  one  thing,  Doctor,"  said 
Arthur. 

"What  is  that?" 

"Merely  that  I  am  not  a  rich  man — I  am  a 
poor  man.  As  I  said,  I  married  Sylviane  as 
a  poor  man.  I  was  brought  up  to  be  a  poor 
man,  I  have  always  expected  to  be  a  poor  man, 
and  a  poor  man  I  hope  to  remain;  that  is,  if 
a  man  who  has  enough  for  his  needs  can  be 
called  poor." 

"You  are  not  rich  at  the  moment,"  the  Doc- 
tor answered,  "but  you  have  only  to  claim 
your  riches." 

"That  I  shall  never  do." 

"Forgive  me,  my  dear  Arthur,"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi,  "if  I  remark  that  I  may  deem  it  my 
duty,  in  case  you  should  carry  your  quaint- 
ness  too  far,  to  claim  those  riches  on  your  be- 
half for  my  daughter's  sake." 


86        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Nothing  whatever  could  be  done  without 
me,"  said  Arthur  politely.  "I  know  very  lit- 
tle of  the  law,  but  I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 
Then  he  added:  "This  is  not  a  matter  about 
which  one  argues,  it  is  a  matter  about  which 
one  feels — it  is  a  question  of  emotion,  not  of 
reason.  And  I  tell  you  that  nothing  will  in- 
duce me  to  claim  my  father's  millions  from 
Arthur  Peterson — nothing!" 

The  young  man's  tone  was  final,  beyond  ap- 
peal. In  the  momentous  silence  which  fol- 
lowed he  again  looked  at  his  wife.  This  time 
Sylviane  met  his  gaze;  a  scarcely  perceptible 
crimson  crept  over  the  marble  of  her  beauti- 
ful features;  she  looked  timidly  at  her  mother 
from  beneath  her  long  dark  lashes.  Then, 
with  a  little  sigh,  she  leaned  over  towards  her 
husband,  and  with  her  fragile  fingers  gently 
stroked  his  hand  which  lay  on  the  table. 

He  started;  it  was  as  though  by  that  simple 
action  the  terrible  die  of  fate  had  been  cast. 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  stared  fixedly  at  the  couple. 

"Come  along,  Sylviane,"  Arthur  said, 
springing  up.  "Put  on  your  cloak;  we  two 
will  go  out  for  a  little  stroll." 

When  they  were  outside  the  door,  in  the 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        87 

darkness  of  the  passage,  he  drew  her  to  him. 
*'SylvieI"  he  murmured. 

Her  long  delicate  arms  were  locked  pas- 
sionately round  his  neck. 

They  walked  on  the  Leas — that  vast  elec- 
trically lighted  plateau  where  the  wealth,  the 
vulgarity,  and  the  Jewry  of  England  may  be 
seen  every  fine  summer  evening  digesting  din- 
ner, ogling,  flirting,  flaunting,  and  pretending 
to  listen  to  one  of  the  worst  bands  in  Europe. 
The  huge  hotels  and  the  immense  boarding- 
houses,  whose  bay  windows  and  balconies  look 
down  complacently  upon  the  crowd  and  the 
expanse  of  trodden  lawn,  had  emptied  them- 
selves into  the  balmy  night,  and  every  one  was 
out  of  doors.  A  full  moon  was  halfway  to- 
wards the  zenith,  and  in  her  luminance  the 
waves  of  the  Channel  glittered  and  shone  in 
broken  reflections.  A  couple  of  miles  ofif 
shore  a  torpedo-destroyer  swung  like  a  menace 
or  a  foreboding.  The  band  in  the  large  band- 
stand was  performing  "Soldiers  of  the  Queen" 
— that  deathless  melody;  and  thousands  of 
persons  lounging  in  chairs  were  grouped  in 
vast  concentric  circles  round  this  musical  hub. 
Thousands  of  others  paraded  to  and  fro.     And 


88        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

all  of  them — the  Jewesses  in  decollete  bodices 
and  picture-hats,  the  paterfamilias  and  the 
materfamilias  of  good  blood  and  many  ances- 
tors, the  financiers  who  support  the  Empire 
and  the  smart  restaurants  and  the  music-halls, 
the  actresses  who  get  a  hundred  pounds  a  week 
for  a  curve  of  the  arm,  the  men-about-town 
who  m5^steriously  exist  and  keep  a  racing- 
stable  on  nothing  a  year,  the  maidens  of  the 
marriage-mart,  the  dowagers  who  have  lived 
and  want  to  live  again  as  though  nothing  had 
happened,  even  the  cripples  in  bath-chairs — 
all  pretended  to  themselves  that  they  were 
happy  and  in  the  act  of  enjoyment.  If  it  had 
not  been  pathetic  it  would  have  been  ridic- 
ulous, this  nocturnal  masquerade  at  the  most 
fashionable  pleasure  resort  in  England. 

''Let's  get  away  from  this,"  said  Arthur. 

Husband  and  wife  walked  by  the  edge  of 
the  cliff  towards  Sandgate,  and  then  descended 
through  the  shrubberies  by  the  zigzag  path  to- 
wards the  margin  of  the  sea.  Near  the  foot 
Sylviane  paused  at  one  of  the  seats  thought- 
fully placed  by  the  town  council  in  a  nook  cut 
into  the  undergrowth. 

They  sat  down.  It  was  quite  dark  here. 
The  steep  side  of  the  cliff  rose  almost  perpcn- 


THE  DOCTOR  EXPLAINS        89 

dicularly  above  them,  cutting  off  the  moon- 
beams. The  restful,  sleepy  splash  of  short 
waves  on  the  sand  made  a  continuous  murmur. 

"Arthur!"  said  Sylviane,  in  a  murmur  that 
resembled  the  murmur  of  the  sea. 

He  pressed  her  fragile  hand,  which  gleamed 
faintly  white  in  the  shadows. 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  splendid  I 
think  you  are!"  she  said,  with  shy  enthusiasm. 

"I  was  afraid  you  would  think  me  a  brute!" 
he  replied  happily. 

"There  will  be  trouble,"  she  exclaimed  later. 

"Trouble?  Why  should  there  be  trouble? 
We  are  our  own  masters." 

"There  will  be  trouble,"  she  repeated;  "but, 
O  Arthur,  you  must  always  believe  in  me." 

"My  love!"  he  entreated,  half  in  alarm,  half 
soothingly,  "what  on  earth  do  you  mean  by 
saying  that?  Of  course  I  shall  always  believe 
in  you;  why  do  you  say  such  things?" 

But  Sylviane  made  no  answer.  She  kissed 
him,  and  a  tear  from  her  eye  fell  on  his  cheek. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  MRS.  CAVALOSSI 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  Dr.  Colpus 
were  left  alone  in  the  dining-room. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  laughed;  it  was  a  vicious 
laugh,  a  laugh  like  a  threat,  and  yet  a  little 
apprehensive,  too. 

The  Doctor  looked  inquiringly  at  her  across 
the  rich  debris  of  the  table.  In  the  soft  crim- 
son glow  of  the  lights  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  had  not  altered  a  whit  in  sixteen  years. 
Her  beauty  was  as  imperious,  as  compelling, 
as  perfect  as  ever. 

"Why  do  you  laugh?"  he  said. 

"Sylviane  will  cure  him  of  his  fancies,"  said 
Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"You  think  so?" 

"She  can  do  what  she  likes  with  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  carelessly. 

"Suppose  she  has  fallen  in  love  with  him?" 

"Sylviane      in      love     with      that     boy! 

Scarcely  I" 

90 


MRS.  CAVALOSSrS  CONQUEST     91 

"But  Sylviane  is  only  a  girl." 

"Pardon  me;  Sylviane  is  a  woman.  She  is 
my  daughter  and  my  pupil — she  knows  what 
she  is  about;  she  knows  exactly  what  is  neces- 
sary to  be  done.  He  adores  her;  she  will  play 
her  cards  well.  We  are  safe,  in  spite  of  his 
absurdities." 

"You  have  given  Sylviane  her  instructions?" 

"I  gave  them  six  months  ago,  before  she  had 
met  him;  I  have  had  no  occasion  to  vary  them. 
With  beauty  like  Sylviane's,  one's  instructions, 
even  in  an  affair  as  big  as  this,  need  only  be 
simple;  men  are  such  babies." 

"But  suppose  she  disobeys  you?" 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  laughed  again. 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  murmured,  with  con- 
viction. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  Doctor  gravely,  "I 
warn  you  that  she  will  disobey  you." 

"She  is  incapable  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi. One  might  have  detected  a  suspicion  of 
forced  bravado  in  her  voice. 

"When  a  woman  is  in  love  she  is  capable  of 
anything." 

"You  harp  on  that  string;  I  tell  you  that 
the  idea  is  absurd.  She  simply  can't  be  in  love 
with  him." 


92        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

''Why  not?" 

"I  merely  know — that's  all." 

*'What  do  you  know  of  love?"  asked  the 
Doctor,  a  little  bitterly.  "Recollect  that  I 
have  enjoyed  your  acquaintance  now  for  many 
years." 

"Too  many!"  she  remarked. 

"You  have  said  something  like  that  before, 
once,"  he  retorted.  "Do  not  repeat  yourself 
— it  is  unworthy  of  a  woman  of  your  original- 
ity.    I  ask  you  what  you  know  of  love." 

"Perhaps  more  than  you  imagine."  The 
natural  woman  showed  herself  for  a  fleeting 
instant  in  her  tone. 

"Then  you  do  love  me?"  he  said,  as  quick 
as  lightning. 

She  looked  at  the  table-cloth.  He  had  read 
her  soul,  but  she  could  not  admit  the  fact. 
"Oblige  me  by  keeping  to  the  point,"  she  said 
with  an  admirable  imitation  of  coldness. 
"We  were  discussing  whether  Sylviane  is  or  is 
not  in  love  with  Arthur  Forrest." 

"She  is." 

"Impossible,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"You  did  not  observe  her  look  when  he 
asked  her  to  go  out  for  a  walk.  It  was  a  look 
of  the  sort  that  no  woman  can  counterfeit — I 


MRS.  CAVALOSSrS  CONQUEST     93 

have  seen  the  same  look  in  your  eyes,  Marie." 

"Even  if  she  were  in  love  with  him"  (Mrs. 
Cavalossi  defended  her  position  obstinately), 
''she  would  still  obey  my  instructions.  Why 
should  she  not?  Sylviane  is  a  creature  de- 
signed and  made  to  exist  in  the  luxury  of 
boundless  wealth.  The  giving  of  pleasure  to 
such  women  as  Sylviane  forms  the  sole  ex- 
cuse for  great  wealth;  she  will  take  care  to 
obtain  possession  of  that  wealth  for  her  own 
sake." 

"Your  argument  is  both  powerful  and 
philosophical" — the  Doctor  smiled — "up  to  a 
certain  point.  The  sole  proper  purpose  of 
great  wealth  is  to  provide  expensive  felicities 
for  charming  and  beautiful  women — that  is  a 
maxim  which  should  be  widely  diffused;  but 
permit  me  to  inform  you  that  Sylviane  no 
longer  cares  for  wealth." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"She  cares  for  her  husband  instead. 
Wealth  will  be  nothing  to  her  in  the  future.  I 
would  wager  a  ten-pound  note  that  at  this 
moment  they  are  billing  and  cooing  in  some 
sequestered  seat.  Why,  Sylviane  regards  his 
refusal  of  the  Peterson  fortune  as  a  great  sacri- 
ficial act.     She  admires  him  for  it;  she  looks 


94        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

on  him  as  a  hero.  Arthur  could  twist  her 
round  his  little  finger." 

*'Our  precious  Arthur!     Nonsense!" 

"Our  precious  Arthur;  and  it  is  not  non- 
sense; it  is  deep  wisdom,  and  you  ought  to  be 
much  beholden  to  me." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  pouted.  The  Doctor  was 
really  becoming  too  absurd. 

*'But  our  precious  Arthur  is  so — so  colour- 
less. Why,  although  I  am  only  his  mother-in- 
law,  if  I  had  him  to  myself  for  an  hour  I 
would  undertake  to  bring  him  to  reason." 

"You  consider  that  Mr.  Forrest  is  a  fool?" 

"He  may  be  a  great  authority  on  pictures 
of  Madonnas  and  saints,  and  that  sort  of  thing; 
but  when  it  comes  to  anything  else " 

"Marie,"  the  Doctor  interrupted,  smiling  as 
a  man  only  smiles  at  a  pretty  woman,  "only 
your  beauty  could  excuse  such  rank  stupidity. 
Upon  my  word,  talk  of  the  insight  of  women; 
I  never  met  with  it;  no,  never — it  is  a 
stupendous  fable.  Listen,  adorable  creature. 
I  have  not  yet  fathomed  Arthur  Forrest's  real 
motives,  but  I  can  tell  you  this:  neither  you 
nor  Sylviane  (even  if  she  wished  to  do  so)  will 
persuade  him  out  of  his  resolve.  Have  you 
been  blind  to  his  chin?     People  with  chins 


MRS.  CAVALOSSrS  CONQUEST     95 

like  that  never  give  way.  Because  he  is  a 
little  awkward,  because  he  doesn't  splutter 
over  with  agreeable  small  talk,  because  he  isn't 
invariably  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion — 
like  me — you  think  he  hasn't  got  two  ideas  in 
his  head  to  knock  together;  you  think  he 
doesn't  possess  a  will  of  his  own.  You  were 
seldom  more  profoundly  deceived." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  made  an  impatient  noise 
between  her  teeth. 

''You  always  were  a  bully,  my  friend,"  said 
she,  "and  you  are  trying  to  bully  me  now. 
You  are  a  man  all  over,  with  your  superior 
airs.  Well,  you  amuse  me — that  is  all.  I  will 
play  my  own  game  first,  and  then  if  that  fails 
you  can  try." 

"There  is  only  one  game,"  he  said  quietly, 
"and  that  is  yours  and  mine  jointly.  If  you 
play  it  and  lose  it  the  thing  is  finished.  A 
game  cannot  be  won  after  it  is  lost.  No, 
Marie,  I  will  play  this  game;  it  is  a  game 
which  I  invented." 

"You  invented?" 

"Invented,"  he  repeated.  "Who  discovered 
first  the  particulars  of  this  peculiar  Peterson 
family  secret?  who  saw  first  the  possibilities 
which  lay  dormant  in  Sylviane?  who  imagined 


96        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

the  scheme  through  which,  by  means  of  Syl- 
viane,  you  were  to  be  not  only  the  prettiest,  but 
the  richest,  woman  in  Europe — was  it  you 
or  I?" 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said,  "of  course  you  first 
thought  of  it." 

"Good,"  he  ejaculated. 

"You  also  said  the  scheme  was  faultless — 
that  it  could  not  fail." 

"Ah,"  said  he;  "but  I  had  not  reckoned  on 
the  singular  character  of  Arthur  Clinton  For- 
rest, nor  on  his  weird  views  with  regard  to 
money.  Nevertheless,  I  repeat  now  that  it 
will  not  fail — that  is,  if  I  continue  to  control. 
But  only  I  can  carry  it  to  success.  It  was  a 
bold  scheme  to  begin  with ;  it  will  have  to  be 
bolder  than  ever.  Do  you  feel  equal  to  it, 
Marie?" 

"Was  I  frightened  before?"  she  answered, 
coldly. 

"To  do  you  justice,  you  weren't,"  he  said. 
"Still,  as  I  say,  we  shall  now  require  even 
more  courage." 

"You  exaggerate  the  dIfRculties,  my  friend." 

"The  difficulties  cannot  be  exaggerated,"  he 
said;  "they  are  tremendous;  only  the  alliance 


MRS.  CAVALOSSrS  CONQUEST    97 

of  beauty  like  yours  and  brains  like  mine  could 
overcome  them." 

He  spoke  with  gravity,  and  it  appeared  that 
at  last  he  had  convinced  her  that  their  common 
path  was  less  smooth  than  she  had  thought. 

"Let  us  begin  then,"  she  said. 

"I  will  proceed  to  describe  the  first  step," 
he  resumed,  having  cleared  his  throat  some- 
what nervously.  "It  is  essential  that  we 
should  be  constantly  together,  Marie;  you  will 
be  useless  without  me,  I  shall  be  powerless 
without  you.  In  order  to  save  appearances, 
and  ease  the  way,  you  must — we  must  get 
married." 

She  looked  at  him.  "You  presume  on  my 
good  nature,"  she  almost  hissed  at  him. 

"How  so?" 

The  good  doctor  rose  from  the  table,  and 
stood  against  the  mantel-piece 

"By  daring  to  introduce  that  subject  again. 
Can  you  not  see,  have  you  not  got  the  sense  to 
perceive,  that  our  relations  are  solely  in  the 
nature  of  business  relations?  I  tolerate  you 
because  you  are  useful  to  me — and  for  no  other 
reason.  Why  do  you  oblige  me  thus  to  speak 
plainly?" 


98        THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"My  sweetest  pet,"  he  replied,  "I  am  pro- 
posing that  we  should  become  husband  and 
wife  for  the  sake  of  business.  Surely  there 
is  nothing  unusual  in  that?  There  are  ten 
thousand  people  in  Folkestone  to-night  who 
married  each  other  and  who  tolerate  each  other 
entirely  for  the  sake  of  business." 

"I  hate  you,"  she  said. 

"Do  not  repeat  that  lie,"  he  remarked;  *'I 
have  already  warned  you  against  repetition. 
You  do  not  hate  me:  you  love  me;  I  can  see 
plainly  into  the  recesses  of  your  soul,  Marie. 
There  is  only  one  thing  there  that  I  cannot 
fathom,  and  that  is,  why  you  should  pretend 
to  yourself  that  you  do  not  like  your  Col- 
pus." 

He    approached    her,    and    imperturbably 

stroked  her  hair. 

"Lookup  at  me." 

She  looked  up. 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  love  you?"  she 
asked  him  in  a  low  voice. 

"By  the  same  signs  that  I  know  that  Syl- 
viane  loves  Arthur  Forrest." 

This  said,  he  moved  away  to  the  window, 
and  sat  down  on  a  chair.  Her  eyes  never  left 
him. 


MRS.  CAVALOSSrS  CONQUEST    99 

"You  know  I  adore  you  madly,"  he  con- 
tinued, smiling. 

She  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "Why 
need  we  be  always  together.?"  she  asked. 

"Angel,  dare  I  leave  you  alone?  Have  you 
already  forgotten  that  pretty  melodramatic 
display  of  yours  at  dinner  to-night?  I 
tremble  to  think  what  might  have  happened 
had  I  not  been  here  to  create  by  my  mere 
presence  an  atmosphere  of  diplomatic  calm. 
The  difficulty  might  have  developed  into  an 
open  rupture." 

"And  what  if  it  had?"  she  queried. 

"We  should  have  had  to  begin  everything 
anew.  Besides,  it  would  have  been  so  inar- 
tistic, so  unworthy  of  our  skill." 

"You  are  the  only  man  I  was  ever  afraid 
of,"  she  whispered.  She  had  the  air  of  a 
daunted  puma,  and  the  curious  thing  was  that 
Dr.  Colpus  had  seemed  to  exert  no  personal 
force  whatever.     He  had  stroked  her  hair. 

"I  know  it,"  he  concurred.  And  then  a 
long,  a  very  long  silence  fell,  a  silence  broken 
by  nothing  but  the  soft  regular  intake  of  Mrs. 
Cavalossi's  breath 

"Bah!"  she  said,  cutting  him  short,  "marry 
me  if  you  like,  then.     As  you  said  just  now, 


100      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

you  have  enjoyed  my  acquaintance  for  many 
years ;  you  should,  therefore,  by  this  time,  know 
something  about  the  risks  you  take  in  offering 
your  hand." 

"You  accept,  Marie?" 

"I  accept." 

"Come  over  here  and  kiss  me,"  he  said  care- 
lessly. 

Strange  to  relate,  she  obeyed  him  like  a 
slave. 

"Sit  beside  me,  my  darling,"  he  said.  And 
they  shared  the  lounge  chair. 

She  took  his  hand.  "Frank!"  she  mur- 
mured, and  he  smiled.  By  some  extraordi- 
nary fatuity,  or  lack  of  insight,  on  the  part  of 
his  parents,  Dr.  Colpus  had  been  baptismally 
named  Francis.  It  was  the  last  name  in  the 
world  that  they  should  have  bestowed  on  him. 

"Say  it  again,"  he  commanded;  "I  like  it." 

"Frank!"  she  murmured  once  more. 

It  was  a  strange  love-making,  bizarre, 
weird,  even  repellent — but  it  was  love-mak- 
ing. 

"Just  as  you  have  always  loved  me,"  he 
went  on  with  the  scene,  "so  I  have  always 
loved  you.  But  I  loved  you  far  more  since 
your  husband's  death  than  I  did  before." 


MRS.  CAVALOSSrS  CONQUEST     loi 

"Why?"  she  asked,  almost  voiceless. 

"Because  I  am  fully  aware  that  you  practi- 
cally killed  him,  Marie.  You  have  courage, 
and  there  is  nothing  in  a  woman  that  I  admire 

more Oh,   no!     I   am  not  in  the  least 

afraid  that  my  own  life  will  be  shortened  at 
your  hands.     Kiss  me  again!" 

She  sighed,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 
shoulder;  it  seemed  as  if  she  almost  swooned. 
"I  hated  you  because  I  knew  you  knew  and 
didn't  care,"  she  stammered;  "oh!  you  make 
me  afraid."  Then  she  closed  her  eyes;  he 
soothed  her. 

Yes,  it  was  a  strange  love-making. 

"Now  the  next  step,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi; 
"we  have  agreed  that  the  first  step  in  your 
scheme  to  overcome  Arthur  Forrest  shall  be 
our  marriage;  tell  me  the  next  step." 

"Not  this  evening,"  he  replied  blandly;  "I 
am  going  back  to  London  early  to-morrow, 
and  I  must  have  a  good  night's  rest.  I  always 
think  in  the  morning — never  after  a  good  din- 
ner, and  especially  never  after  my  hand  has 
been  accepted  in  matrimony  by  a  beautiful 


woman." 


They  both  laughed  like  children. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MRS.  CAVALOSSI  AND  SYLVIANE 

"By  the  way,"  said  Dr.  Colpus,  leaning  down 
to  Mrs.  Cavalossi  through  the  window  of  the 
first-class  carriage,  *'how  much  money  have 
you  left  now?" 

The  London  train  was  on  the  point  of  de- 
parture. It  was  yet  early  morning,  the  hour 
of  milkmen  and  postmen.  The  station  had  a 
chill,  unused,  deserted  look;  the  passengers 
were  few,  and  for  the  most  part  still  gaping 
with  astonishment  at  finding  themselves  out  of 
bed.  Dr.  Colpus,  however,  and  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi also,  contrived  to  be  alert,  vivacious,  and 
fully  awake. 

They  had  breakfasted  together  and  walked 
to  the  station  together,  and  talked  industri- 
ously together  for  the  space  of  one  hour  and  a 
quarter.  Physically  they  were  both  superb 
animals.  Dr.  Colpus  had  the  elasticity  of  a 
man  in  early  prime;  Mrs.  Cavalossi  had  the 
waist  and  the  neck  of  a  girl,  and  she  invariably 

102 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  103 

enjoyed  the  outrageous  health  of  a  Cossack. 

"How  much  have  you  got  left?"  repeated 
the  Doctor. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  frowned  a  little. 

"Oh,  pretty  well,"  she  answered,  after  a 
pause. 

"Have  you  got  five  thousand?" 

"No." 

"Three  thousand?" 

"Yes;  a  little  over  that." 

"Ah!  Let  us  confront  the  facts;  let  us  look 
them  in  the  face.  You  told  me  the  other  day, 
did  you  not,  that  you  reckoned  it  cost  you  a 
hundred  a  week  to  live?" 

She  nodded. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "about  that." 

"That  is  fourteen  pounds  a  day." 

"Is  it?     I  was  never  good  at  mental  arith- 


metic." 


"It  seems  a  great  deal,"  he  pursued. 

"You  know  what  hotels  are." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  have  a  sort  of  notion 
what  hotels  are;  and  I  fancy  I  could  live  well 
in  any  hotel  on  a  couple  of  pounds  a  day,  or 
even  thirty  shillings." 

"Then  there  is  Sims  and  Adela;  don't  for- 
get those  important  personages." 


104      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"They  surely  don't  explain  the  difference 
between  two  and  fourteen." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  "one  must 
have  clothes;  I  assure  you  I  haven't  a  rag  to 
my  back." 

"Perhaps  not  a  rag" — he  smiled,  humouring 
her,  but  with  a  basis  of  urgent  seriousness  in 
his  tone — "perhaps  not  a  rag,  but  a  confection 
in  alpaca  that  must  have  cost  as  many  guineas 
as  there  are  days  in  a  month." 

"Well?"  she  said,  defiantly. 

"Well,"  he  repeated,  "tell  me  how  much 
you  spend  on  clothing  that  fair  form,  in  hid- 
ing that  surpassing  beauty  from  the  world." 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  wish  you  to  calculate.  Are  you  incapa- 
ble of  so  doing?" 

"Why  these  calculations?"  putting  her  hand 
on  his  as  it  rested  on  the  window. 

He  looked  at  that  hand,  or  rather  at  the 
immaculate  white  glove  that  encased  it. 

"What  expensive  gloves!"  he  sighed.  Then 
he  continued  in  a  new  tone:  "Marie,  we  must 
be  serious.  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest.  If 
you  are  spending  a  hundred  a  week,  and  you 
have  only  three  thousand  pounds  in  hand " 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  105 

"How  tedious  you  are,  Frank!"  she  stopped 
him,  again  stroking  his  hand. 

"That  means  you  have  enough  for  thirty 
weeks,"  he  said  quietly,  without  appearing  to 
notice  the  gesture.  "Thirty  weeks  is  not  long. 
Couldn't  you  retrench  a  little?" 

"Impossible,"  she  answered,  shaking  her 
head  vehemently.  ''Besides,  we  have  oceans 
of  time,  simply  oceans " 

"Marie,"  he  interrupted  her,  "you  are 
divine,  but  you  are  a  ninny;  and  the  worst  of  it 
is  you  think  yourself  clever.  You  will  ruin 
us  both  yet  with  your  haste  and  rashness.  Let 
me  beg  you  to  retrench.  I  repeat  that  thirty 
weeks  will  be  all  too  short." 

"Simply  oceans  of  time,"  she  said  again, 
with  the  insistence  of  a  parrot  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  a  dove. 

"I  shall  be  angry  with  you  in  a  moment," 
he  said. 

"Remember  that  we  are  not  married  yet, 
my  dear,"  she  retorted,  "and  that  any  woman 
with  a  mind  is  at  liberty  to  change  that  mind." 

He  saw  that  she  would  not  be  serious;  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Cavalossi  was  seldom 
serious  at  early  morning.     With  her,  as  with 


io6      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

all  people  of  perfect  health,  early  morning 
showed  her  at  her  brightest.  It  is  only  the 
valetudinarians,  the  hypochondriacs,  and  the 
swallowers  of  quack  medicines  who  improve 
as  the  day  waxes. 

"You  are  incurable,"  he  said;  '^there  are 
some  of  your  moods  in  which  you  are  deaf  to 
reason.  But  let  me  inform  you,  Marie,  that 
we  are  skating  on  very  thin  ice." 

"That  is  your  conclusion  after  sleeping  on 
the  matter?" 

"It  is.  If  the  ice  gives  way,  do  not  say  that 
I  have  not  warned  you." 

"Rubbish!"  she  ejaculated.  "You  don't 
know  what  I  can  do;  you  treat  me  like  a  baby. 
How  do  you  suppose  I  managed  during  those 
years  when  I  had  not  the  inestimable  benefit 
of  your  co-operation  in  my  schemes?" 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "luck  is  always  on  the  side 
of  beauty." 

"Just  so;  that  is  my  point"  She  enjoyed 
the  little  score  she  had  made. 

"But  occasionally  the  luck  turns,"  he  said 
dreamily,  and  glanced  at  the  signal  ahead. 

"Not  against  me,"  she  said  imperturbably. 

"Who  can  say?" 

She  merely  smiled  at  him,  half  tolerant,  half 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  107 

contemptuous.  In  that  smile  she  subtly  gave 
him  to  understand  that  for  years  and  years  to 
come  nothing  could  ruin  the  possessor  of  such 
a  face  as  hers. 

'M  shall  stay  here  for  the  rest  of  the  week," 
she  said  boldly.  "Imagine  that  I  have  kissed 
you;  good-bye.  See  you  on  Monday — in  the 
meantime  rely  on  me." 

"Good-bye,  bright  star,"  he  said  gallantly; 
"awfully  good  of  you  to  see  me  ofif." 

He  raised  his  hat  and  bowed.  The  guard 
whistled,  the  engine  shrieked,  and  in  another 
moment  this  loving  couple  were  parted 

Mrs.  Cavalossi,  conscious  of  the  perfection 
of  her  highly  coloured  alpaca  frock,  strolled 
amiably  back  to  the  hotel.  The  morning  was 
perfect,  but  there  was  a  suggestion  of  ap- 
proaching thunder  in  the  air.  She  sat  down 
in  a  basket-chair  within  the  precincts  of  the 
hotel  entrance,  and  looked  fixedly  seawards  in 
a  rapt  and  absent  manner.  A  slight  curve  of 
the  lips  and  nostrils  seemed  to  indicate  that  the 
feeling  uppermost  in  her  mind  was  one  of 
severe  contempt — the  contempt  of  a  person 
who,  assured  of  absolute  power,  looks  down 
impatiently  upon  all  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"Good  morning,  mamma." 


io8       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

^'Sylviane!" 

The  sudden  exquisite  apparition  of  the  girl 
startled  Mrs,  Cavaiossi.  Sylviane  was  attired 
in  pink — the  freshest  pink  of  morn.  The 
trailing  gown  enveloped  her  slim  figure  like 
a  garment  of  cloud;  her  virginal  face  shone  as 
a  flower  shines  when  the  sun  is  young  in  the 
sky.  Its  surpassing  and  perfect  beauty  was 
intensified  by  a  faint,  elusive  touch  of  sadness, 
which  gave  depth  to  the  eyes  and  subtle  mean- 
ing to  the  curves  of  the  mouth. 

Mrs.  Cavaiossi  had  a  vague  feeling  of  ap- 
prehension as  she  looked  at  her  child.  If  her 
own  beauty  was  power,  what  power  must  there 
be  in  the  loveliness  of  Sylviane?  She  seemed 
to  sink  into  inferiority  in  the  presence  of  this 
young  girl. 

"Sit  dov^n,  Sylvia,"  said  Mrs.  Cavaiossi, 
taking  her  hand.  "Have  you  had  breakfast? 
Where  is  Arthur?" 

"Adela  brought  me  some  tea.  Arthur  is 
staying  in  bed;  he  is  not  well." 

"Not  well?"  Mrs.  Cavaiossi  turned  round 
suddenly  to  her  daughter,  and  then  the  germ 
of  some  strange  thought  seemed  to  strike  her. 
"What  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Headache.     He  says  he  will  be  all  right 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  109 

by  lunch-time.  I  think  he  is  a  little  feverish ; 
I  shall  ask  Dr.  Colpus  to  see  him." 

"Dr.  Colpus  has  returned  to  London;  I 
have  been  with  him  to  the  station.  Sylviane, 
I  have  a  piece  of  news  for  you,  and  for  Arthur 
too;  I  wish  he  had  been  up.  Dr.  Colpus  has 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife !" 

"You  are  going  to  be  married,  mamma?" 

"I  merely  said  he  had  asked  me  to  be  his 
wife.  Tell  me,  Sylviane,  would  you  like  me 
to  accept  him?" 

The  girl's  eyes  wavered. 

"You  are  too  young  for  Dr.  Colpus,  mamma, 
and  too  beautiful." 

"He  does  not  think  so,  Sylvie.  He  is  grey- 
haired,  but  he  is  an  ideal  lover.  I  have  ac- 
cepted him.  We  shall  be  married  next  week; 
you  know  the  place." 

"Mamma,  are  you  in  love  with  him?" 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  laughed. 

"Possibly,"  she  replied;  and  then:  "I  adore 
him." 

Sylviane  should  have  said  something  fit  for 
such  an  occasion,  but  she  happened  to  say 
nothing,  and  there  was  a  difficult  silence;  even 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  was  troubled.  A  restraint 
seemed  to  have  sprung  up  between  mother  and 


no      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

daughter.  To  find  refuge  from  it  they  both 
began  to  watch  the  hotel  servants,  who  were 
vigorously  polishing  the  brasswork  of  the 
double  doors  within  the  entrance.  Guests 
were  not  supposed  to  be  abroad  at  that  hour, 
especially  pretty  women.  The  attendants 
were  coming  nearer  now,  and  it  would  have 
been  impossible  to  continue  any  private  con- 
versation. 

'T  think  I  will  go  to  Arthur,"  said  Syl- 
viane,  getting  up  from  her  seat. 

^T  am  coming  upstairs,  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi. 

They  went  up  the  broad  staircase  together 
in  silence. 

At  the  door  of  Arthur's  bedroom  Sylviane 
stopped;  there  was  no  one  else  in  the  long 
corridor. 

"Oh,  mamma,"  she  whispered,  kissing  her, 
"why  are  you  going  to  marry  him?  What 
does  it  mean?" 

"Mean?"  Mrs.  Cavalossi  repeated  the 
word ;  "it  means  that  I  don't  want  to  spend  a 
solitary  old  age;  it  means  that  our  dear,  good 
Doctor  requires  a  nurse.  What  else  should  it 
mean?  Go  and  nurse  your  own  darling, 
Sylvie,  and  I  will  dream  of  mine." 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  m 

An  hour  later,  just  as  Mrs.  Cavalossi  was 
preparing  to  go  for  a  walk,  Sylviane  ran  into 
the  drawing-room. 

"Mamma,  he  is  ill!" 

There  was  an  appealing  apprehension  in 
the  tremulous  tones.  Mrs.  Cavalossi  hap- 
pened to  be  examining  the  handle  of  a  new 
umbrella.  She  looked  up  quickly  at  the 
young  wife,  whose  face  told  the  same  tale  as 
her  voice. 

"111?"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"Yes At  least,  I  think  so." 

"You  said  it  was  only  a  headache." 

"I  said  he  was  a  little  feverish,  too, 
mamma."  The  young  wife's  attitude  towards 
her  mother  was  that  of  a  timid  schoolgirl. 

"But  people  with  bad  headaches  are  often 
a  little  feverish.     You  are  silly,  my  dear." 

"I  know,  mamma;  but  I  cannot  help  it. 
I'm  dreadfully  afraid  he's  going  to  be  ill." 

"Going  to  be  ill!"  repeated  Mrs.  Cavalossi, 
and  her  own  voice  sounded  to  her  as  though  it 
came  from  a  great  distance. 

Again  a  strange  thought  seemed  to  strike 
her,  but  this  time  more  strongly.  Her  fea- 
tures gave  no  sign,  yet  within  her  soul  she  saw 
the  finger  of  Fate  stretched  forth  inviting  her 


112      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

to  grasp  it.  Her  supreme  luck,  that  luck 
which  had  never  deserted  her  for  long,  was 
once  more  at  her  call.  Already  a  plan  formed 
vaguely  in  her  mind.  She  saw  the  future ;  she 
saw  events  waiting  to  be  moulded  by  a  pow- 
erful, unscrupulous  hand.  She  could  have 
laughed  as,  like  lightning,  she  sketched  out 
the  disaster  which  should  presently  occur;  Dr. 
Colpus  should  see  what  she  was  capable  of 
without  his  assistance.  She  was  born  to  suc- 
ceed— hell  itself  was  on  her  side. 

"I  will  go  and  see  Arthur  for  myself,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  do.  He  wants  to  see  you,  mamma." 
Sylvie  accepted  the  suggestion  eagerly.  "He 
told  me  to  ask  you  to  go  into  his  bedroom." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi,  rising. 

"I — I — I  thought  you  didn't  like  going  into 
sick  rooms;  you  would  never  come  into  mine." 

"Sick  room!  Fiddlestick!  It  appears  to 
me  that  Arthur  gets  ill  very  suddenly.  Are 
you  not  worrying  yourself  about  nothing?" 
she  paused ;  "why  should  you  worry?"  There 
was  a  momentary  hint  of  kindness  in  her  tone. 

"Mother!" 

"Have  you  fallen  in  love  with  your  hus- 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  113 

band?"  continued  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  her  voice 
hardening  again. 

"Mother,"  answered  the  girl  passionately, 
"he  didn't  marry  me  for  my  money;  he  isn't 
mercenary."  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
floor.  ^     ■ 

"You  are  convinced  of  that?" 
"Did  he  not  prove  it  last  night?" 
"Sylvie,   don't   be   absurd.     He  will   soon 
change  his  mind  about  that,  you  will  see;  it 
was  only  a  pose.     You  will  find  him  really 
ready  enough  to  live  on  your  fortune.     Be- 
sides, it  is  your  business  to  make  him  change." 
"I  can't  do  it,  mamma." 
"You  can  if  you  try." 
"Mammy,  I  shall  never  try." 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  put  down  her  umbrella. 
"Sylvie,  it  will  be  unfortunate  for  you  if  you 
and  I  quarrel.     I  have  brought  you  up  as  a 
woman  of  the  world,  I  have  allowed  you  to 
have  no  illusions;  six  months  ago  you  were 
ail  I  could  wish.     You  regarded  marriage  as 
what  it  is — a  matter  of  business.     I  unfold  a 
scheme  by  which  we  might  be  really  rich,  not 
half   rich,  you  and   I ;  you  had  no  scruples 
then.     We  were  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Arthur  Forrest,  who,  as  we  then  thought,  was 


114       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

ignorant  of  his  title  to  the  Peterson  estate,  and 
you  were  to  marry  him.  I  told  you  that  he 
would  be  ready  enough  to  marry  you  when  he 
knew  you  were  worth  twenty  thousand  pounds, 
I  was  right!  He  was  attracted  by  your  beauty 
and  your  fortune  at  once.  He  acted  as  any 
other  man  would  have  done — he  took  the 
bait." 

'*No,  mamma;  he  fell  in  love  with  me." 

"Stuff,  Sylviane!  Anyhow,  he  married 
you.  It  turns  out  that  he  did  know  of  the 
claim  to  the  Peterson  estate,  though,  for  some 
reason,  he  had  made  no  move  in  the  affair. 
We  received  a  slight  check  last  night;  but 
what  of  that?  If,  as  you  say,  he  is  in  love 
with  you,  two  words  from  you  will  make  him 
spring  on  to  the  Peterson  millions  like  a  tiger." 

"But  I  shall  not  say  them." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  laughed  gaily. 

"You  have  grown  sentimental,  Sylviane; 
that  will  pass,  and  in  the  meantime  you  amuse 
me.  Well,  we  will  leave  it  now.  You  say 
that  Arthur  is  ill,  and  that  he  wants  to  see  me; 
I  will  go  to  him.  I  expect  the  symptoms  are 
chiefly  in  your  fancy.  He  was  perfectly  well 
last  night." 

Picking  up  the  umbrella,   Mrs.   Cavalossi 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  115 

followed  her  daughter  to  the  bedroom.  She 
entered  it  smiling,  the  incarnation  of  health 
and  spirits;  it  seemed  impossible  that  any 
disease  or  weakness  could  exist  where  she  was. 
The  apartment  was  large,  and  flooded  with 
light  from  a  lofty  window;  between  the  win- 
dow and  the  door  was  the  bed  upon  which 
the  invalid  lay,  next  to  the  bed  was  a  fold- 
ing screen.  Mrs.  Cavalossi  saw  at  once  that 
Arthur  was  really  ill.  In  her  time  she  had 
had  some  curiously  wide  experiences  of  all 
sorts  of  illness.  The  young  man  looked  ex- 
hausted; the  whites  of  his  eyes  were  pink,  and 
the  eyes  ran  with  water;  he  was  flushed,  his 
hair  was  damp,  and  a  slight  rash  had  broken 
out  on  his  face. 

He  smiled  feebly  in  response  to  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi's  greeting — a  greeting  full  of  tact  and 
cheerfulness.  Placing  her  umbrella  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  absently  touching  her 
straw  hat  to  assure  herself  that  it  had  the  cor- 
rect poise,  she  came  to  his  side.  Sylviane 
stood  behind. 

The  invalid  made  a  furtive  sign  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  wif 

"Arthur,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  without  a 
second's  hesitation,  'T  will  take  your  tempera- 


ii6      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

ture.  Sylvie,  run  and  ask  Adela  to  get  a  clin- 
ical thermometer." 

"Now,"  she  hurriedly  whispered,  when  Syl- 
viane  had  gone,  "what  is  it,  my  dearest 
Arthur?" 

"I've  got  influenza,"  he  replied.  "It  will 
be  serious;  last  year  and  the  year  before  I 
nearly  died  from  it.  Get  a  doctor  at  once.  I 
want  you  to  keep  Sylviane  from  being  fright- 
ened; reassure  her — tell  her  it's  nothing." 

"I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  with 
soothing  tenderness,  "I  understand.  I  will  see 
to  everything;  you've  no  idea  what  a  nurse  I 
am.  I  knew  instantly  that  it  was  influenza, 
but  there's  no  reason  to  consider  it  serious; 
the  strictest  care  is  all  that  is  necessary.  You 
couldn't  have  been  properly  looked  after  in 
your  previous  attacks;  in  a  week  you  will  be 
perfectly  well.  I  wonder  how  you  could  have 
caught  it." 

"I  can't  guess,"  he  murmured;  "I  think  I 
must  carry  the  germs  about  with  me,  and 
they  blossom  into  life  when  summer  comes." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  smiled  benignly,  as  at  a 
spoiled  child. 

"It  is  more  probable,"  she  said,  "that  you 
have  brought  it  on  by  being  out  last  night. 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  117 

The  English  climate  is  never  safe  after  dark, 
my  poor  Arthur.  By  the  way,  why  did  you 
go  out  last  night  so  suddenly?" 

"I  wanted  a  walk  with  Sylvie." 

"You  are  frightfully  fond  of  her,  aren't 
you?" 

"I  love  her,"  he  said  quietly. 

"And  you  don't  like  your  old  mother-in-law 
because  she  crossed  you  yesterday  evening? 
That's  it,  isn't  it?     Naughty  Arthur  1" 

His  lips  relaxed  into  a  vague  smile. 

"Don't  forget  about  Sylviane,"  he  said  in- 
sistently. 

"Rely  on  me,  Arthur,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"Mamma,"  said  Sylviane,  following  her 
mother  out  of  the  room  after  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
had  duly  taken  Arthur's  temperature  and 
despatched  Sims  himself  for  a  doctor,  "I'm  so 
frightened.     I " 

And  then  her  voice  broke. 

"It's  like  fate,"  the  girl  said  between  her 
smothered  sobs. 

"Sylviane,  what  in  heaven's  name  is  the 
matter?" 

"Don't  you  remember two  years  ago?" 

The  young  wife  looked  straight  in  front  of 
her  with  staring  eyes,  suddenly  dry.     It  was 


ii8       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

the  tragic  corpse  of  her  first  husband  which 
these  eyes  saw  in  the  blackness  of  space. 

"Can  it  be  fate?"  she  murmured  again. 

"Hush!"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  "he  will  hear 
you.  Come  to  my  room  for  a  few  minutes. 
I  will  give  you  some  brandy;  you  must  con- 
trol yourself.  Arthur  will  be  quite  recovered 
in  a  day  or  two.  What  is  an  attack  of  in- 
fluenza?" 

And  afterwards,  when  Sylviane  had  re- 
gained her  composure  and  gone  back  to  sit 
with  her  husband  till  the  doctor  came,  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  gazed  into  her  looking-glass  and 
deliberately  smiled. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "what  is  an  attack  of  in- 
fluenza?    The  strictest  care " 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Adela  bearing  a  card. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  Mr.  Forrest,  madam, 
so  I  brought  the  card  to  you." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  inspected  the  white  paste- 
board. It  showed  the  name,  "Arthur  Peter- 
son." 

"I  think  I  will  see  him  myself,  Adela." 
Then  she  hesitated.  "No,"  she  said  at  length, 
"tell  Mr.  Peterson  that  Mr.  Forrest  is  ill  in 
bed  with  an  attack  of  influenza  that  has  come 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  119 

on  quite  suddenl}^,  and  that  a  doctor  has  just 
been  sent  for." 

"Yes,  madam.     And  if  he  asks  to  see  you?" 

''He  doesn't  know  me." 

"I  beg  pardon,  madam,"  and  Adela  de- 
parted. 

''I  would  give  my  ears  to  have  fifteen 
minutes  with  this  Peterson  person,"  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  mused  when  she  was  alone  again; 
"but  to  make  his  acquaintance  now  might  com- 
plicate matters." 

When  the  doctor  arrived  it  was  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi herself  who  received  him,  and  though 
Sylviane  followed  the  pair  into  Arthur's  room, 
she  occupied  an  entirely  secondary  position  in 
the  conference.  The  doctor's  manner  was  in- 
gratiating, reassuring.  There  are  two  kinds 
of  doctors — those  who  assume  that  you  will  die 
until  their  unparalleled  efforts  have  so  unmis- 
takably succeeded  that  you  can  eat  a  beefsteak 
for  breakfast,  and  those  who  assume  that  you 
are  perfectly  well  until  you  are  dead.  The 
Folkestone  doctor  belonged  to  the  second 
variety.  Experience  had  taught  him  much, 
and  amongst  other  things  that  if  doctors  were 
only  called  in  when  they  were  really  needed 
about  five-sixths  of  the  profession  would  be 


120      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

compelled  to  turn  grocers  or  politicians.  At 
first  he  did  not  regard  Arthur's  case  as  in  the 
least  serious.  But  then  it  is  necessary  to  re- 
member that  he  had  previously  been  under  the 
spell  of  Mrs.  Cavalossi  in  Mrs.  Cavalossi's 
drawing-room;  he  had  been  warned  that 
Sylvie's  fears  must  not  be  aroused. 

"H'ml"  he  muttered,  after  having  taken 
Arthur's  pulse,  and  used  again  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi's clinical  thermometer.  "H'm!"  Then 
a  pause.  Then:  "Influenza  undoubtedly;  a 
slight  attack.  No  cause  whatever  for  alarm, 
madam."     He  looked  at  Sylviane  and  smiled. 

"Didn't  I  say  so,  my  love?"  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
remarked  to  her  daughter. 

"I  will  send  some  medicine  round  at  once." 

"And  I  should  like  you  to  call  again  this 
afternoon,"  said  Sylvie,  venturing  at  last  to 
assert  her  rights  as  a  wife. 

"Will  that  really  be  necessary?"  asked  Mrs. 
Cavalossi. 

"I  will  call  by  all  means,"  said  the  doctor 
shortly,  after  he  had  examined  the  patient 
again. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  herself  accompanied  him  to 
the  precincts  of  the  hotel. 


MRS.  CxWALOSSI  121 

Then  she  went  for  her  morning  walk  on  the 
sea  front;  Mrs.  Cavalossi  had  a  habit  of  taking 
exercise  whatever  happened.  It  is  possible 
that  this  habit  explained  her  complexion  and 
her  redundant  health. 

It  was  still  somewhat  early,  and  the  major 
part  of  the  pleasure-seekers  of  Folkestone  had 
not  yet  greeted  the  sun  and  the  sea.  The  Leas 
were  but  sparsely  dotted  with  people;  the  band 
had  not  commenced  the  day's  labours.  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  took  a  chair,  paid  a  penny  for  it, 
and  began  to  meditate  upon  things  in  general. 
Her  meditations  must  have  been  rhythmic,  for 
she  tapped  her  incomparable  foot  upon  the 
ground  at  irregular  intervals  as  though  playing 
a  tune.  Suddenly  her  thoughts  were  inter- 
rupted. A  young  man,  walking  past  her,  had 
deliberately  stopped  in  mid-career,  and  stood 
facing  her. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  this  young  man,  "but  I 
believe  you  to  be  Mrs.  Cavalossi." 

"My  name  is  Cavalossi,"  she  admitted,  smil- 
ing in  spite  of  herself. 

The  young  man  was  a  beautiful  young  man. 
At  any  rate  he  seemed  so  in  the  morning  light, 
dressed  as  he  was  from  head  to  foot  in  white. 


122       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

He  showed  his  excellent  teeth,  and  swung  a 
rather  knobby  stick  with  an  air  of  perfect  ease 
and  assurance. 

"And  mine  is  Peterson — Arthur  Peterson," 
he  said ;  ''I  have  just  left  my  card  on  my  friend 
Forrest  at  your  hotel.  I  hope  he  is  not  seri- 
ously unwell." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi.  "We 
must  hope  it  is  nothing;  but  with  influenza, 
you  know,  there  is  no  certainty." 

"Arthur  ought  to  know  what  influenza  is  by 
this  time,"  said  Mr.  Peterson. 

"Yes;  he  told  me  that  he  had  had  one  or 
two  severe  attacks  before." 

"Severe!"  said  Mr.  Peterson,  "severe  ain't 
the  word." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"I  have  called  in  the  doctor;  everything  is 
being  done.  I  am  just  taking  the  air  for  half 
an  hour  or  so,  then  I  shall  assume  a  share  in 
the  nursing  of  your  friend,  Mr.  Peterson." 

"You  will?"  he  exclaimed;  "if  I  were  ill 
1  should  like  to  be  nursed  by  you." 

"Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Because  you're  so  awfully  pretty." 

The  compliment  was  paid  in  the  most  inno- 
cent and  youthful  way  in  the  world;  but  still 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  123 

it  was  not  precisely  the  kind  of  speech  that  a 
man,  even  a  young  man,  should  make  to  a 
woman  to  whom  he  is  a  complete  stranger — to 
whom  he  has  not  even  been  formally  intro- 
duced. Mrs.  Cavalossi  found  pleasure  in  this 
honest  enthusiasm;  but,  nevertheless,  she  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  her  to  say  something  in  the 
nature  of  a  rebuff. 

"You  are  singularly  candid,  Mr.  Peterson," 
she  remarked. 

^'Oh,  dear!"  he  exclaimed,  crestfallen; 
"have  I  been  rude?  I  hope  not.  Anyhow, 
I  apologise.  You  see,  I'm  not  used  to  the 
society  of  women.  I'm  always  putting  my 
foot  in  it.  But  you  are  awfully  pretty,  you 
know,  Mrs.  Cavalossi.  May  I  take  this  chair 
beside  you?" 

Without  waiting  for  permission,  he 
plumped  down  in  the  chair,  leaned  forward, 
pushed  his  hat  back,  and  twiddled  his  stick 
between  his  knees. 

"I  must  be  going  directly,"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi; only  her  manner  distinguished  the 
speech  from  that  of  a  shop-girl.  "Pray,  how 
did  you  know  who  I  was?" 

"I  met  Arthur  on  the  steamer  yesterday,  and 
I  saw  him  leave  the  boat  with  a  lady  on  his 


124      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

arm  who  I  knew  must  be  his  wife.  Unfor- 
tunately I  had  not  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her. 
That  lady  was  the  image  of  yourself,  and  since 
Arthur  had  told  me  about  you  both,  I  guessed 
at  once  who  you  were  when  I  saw  you  sitting 
here." 

"I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  mind  me  introducing 
myself  to  you;  I  only  wanted  to  know  about 
Forrest." 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  Peterson;  I  think  you  will 
find,"  she  added,  "that  no  one  will  object  to 
meeting  a  young  man  as  rich  as  you  are  going 
to  be." 

He  reddened. 

"Then  you  have  heard  about  my  father's 
will,  and  all  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "of  course.  Who  has 
not?  You  will  be  in  all  the  halfpenny  papers 
shortly — that  is  to  say,  when  you  come  of  age." 

"I  trust  not,"  he  said. 

"Worse  things  might  befall  you  than  that." 

"For  instance?" 

"I  will  not  give  any  examples;  but  I  am 
a  prophetess  in  a  small  way,  Mr.  Peterson." 

'Look  at  my  hands,  then."     He  held  them 


<'i 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  125 

out  eagerly,  and  she  pretended  to  examine 
them. 

"The  line  of  life  is  long,"  she  said. 

"Is  it?"  he  exclaimed;  "that's  good.  I  had 
my  fortune  told  a  year  or  two  ago  by  a  gipsy 
on  Epsom  Downs,  and  she  said  the  life  line 
was  very  short." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  glanced  up  at  the  youth  sud- 
denly. 

"Very  short?"  she  questioned  with  sharp- 
ness. 

"Yes." 

"Gipsies  are  such  frauds,"  she  said;  "never 
believe  them.  The  life-line  is  long.  But — 
let  me  warn  you  against  calamity." 

"What  sort  of  calamity?" 

"Nay,  how  can  I  tell?" 

"You  are  teasing  me,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
really  believe  you  know  anything  about  palm- 
istry at  all,  Mrs.  Cavalossi." 

"Infidel!"  she  smiled  at  him,  impertrubed; 
"you  will  see.     Good  morning!" 

"May  I  not  walk  with  you  to  your  hotel?" 
he  begged. 

"I  could  not  think  of  troubling  you,  Mr. 
Peterson,"  she  said  coldly. 


126       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"It  wouldn't  be  a  trouble,"  he  urged. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  and  left  him 
without  shaking  hands. 

"Curious  woman!"  he  murmured,  when  he 
was  alone.  "But  she's  a  clipper  all  the  same. 
I'll  call  at  that  hotel  twice  a  day  till  Forrest 
gets  better — dashed  if  I  won't!" 

Then  he  went  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
men's  bathing  ground.  Pathetic  figure,  un- 
conscious of  his  pathos!  Fate  was  weav- 
ing her  web  round  him  and  round  his  mil- 
lions. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  bit  her  lip  as  she  re-entered 
the  Pavilion  Hotel.  She  was  wondering 
whether  she  had  behaved  with  complete  dis- 
cretion during  this  somewhat  amusing  inter- 
view with  Arthur  Peterson.  She  comforted 
herself  with  the  thought  that,  anyhow,  the 
interview  had  been  forced  upon  her  by  cir- 
cumstance; she  had  not  sought  it.  She  quite 
expected  that  the  exuberant  and  youthful 
Peterson  would  call  at  the  hotel,  but  she  de- 
cided that  she  would  not  see  him.  And  the 
fact  indeed  was  that  these  two — so  apart  yet 
so  intimately  connected — never  saw  each  other 
again.  Their  orbits  touched  just  that  once, 
lightly,    momentarily;    they    exchanged    five 


MRS.  CAVALOSSI  127 

minutes  of  the  airiest  talk — and  parted  for 
eternity.  In  such  chance  meetings  there  is  an 
element  of  the  incomprehensible,  the  discon- 
certing, the  supremely  poignant. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  INVITATION  TO  THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH 

In  the  meantime  the  course  of  Arthur  For- 
rest's illness  was  proving  that  he  had  not  been 
mistaken  in  diagnosing  his  own  case.  By  the 
afternoon  of  that  day  he  was  seriously  ill,  and 
every  one  in  the  hotel  knew  that  he  was  seri- 
ously ill.  The  manager  went  about  with  the 
look  of  a  martyr,  having  a  natural  professional 
antipathy  to  all  varieties  of  illness,  and  more 
particularly  to  those  of  an  infectious  nature — 
hotel  guests  are  so  exacting,  so  nervous,  so 
timid.  However,  nothing  could  be  done  be- 
yond maintaining  a  strict  silence  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

This  extraordinary  disease,  though  it  is 
probably  scores  of  centuries  old,  made  its  first 
appearance  in  modern  times  scarcely  a  dozen 
years  ago.  Since  1889  it  has  assumed  widely 
different  forms — forms  alike  only  in  the  de- 
grees of  their  fatality.  It  has  carried  off  thou- 
sands of  lives,  and  it  has  vanquished  the  efforts 

128 


THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH       129 

of  science  to  ascertain  its  nature  and  causes. 
One  of  the  most  mysterious  of  modern  epi- 
demics, its  manifestations  are  often  so  dis- 
guised that  its  presence  can  only  be  detected  by 
after-effects.  At  the  best  its  symptoms  are 
trifling,  and  it  is  the  very  slightness  of  these 
symptoms  which,  by  leading  the  patient  to 
minimise  their  importance,  so  materially  as- 
sists the  disease  in  its  deadly  work.  Its  cure 
has  yet  to  be  invented ;  as  things  stand  at  pres- 
ent, the  best  that  the  best  doctor  can  do  is  to 
order  the  sufferer  to  be  kept  warm  in  bed  and 
supplied  with  suitable  liquid. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  day  Arthur's  posi- 
tion was  critical.  His  temperature  was  104 
degrees.  Stimulants  seemed  to  have  no  effect 
upon  him;  he  was  frequently  delirious,  and 
his  hold  upon  existence  had  obviously  grown 
weaker.  Mrs.  Cavalossi  had,  with  Sylviane's 
entire  concurrence,  decided  against  having  a 
nurse.  The  two  women  told  the  doctor  that 
they  preferred  to  nurse  Arthur  themselves. 
On  the  previous  night  Sylviane  had  sat  up 
with  her  husband,  Adela  being  within  call; 
to-night  Mrs.  Cavalossi  was  going  to  sit  up. 
It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  the  doctor  was  just 
concluding    his    visit.     Sylviane    had,    upon 


130      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

absolute  compulsion,  retired  to  her  mother's 
room  for  a  few  hours'  rest. 

"He  is,  perhaps,  the  least  bit  in  the  world 
better,"  said  the  doctor  to  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  tak- 
ing up  his  hat.  "But  the  fever  seems  ob- 
stinate. I  may  as  well  tell  you  frankly,  now 
that  Mrs.  Forrest  is  not  here,  that  the  case  is 
still  as  serious  as  it  could  be.  I  think  you 
should  have  a  professional  nurse,  though  you, 
Mrs.  Cavalossi,  are  faultless  in  that  respect. 
It  is  Mrs.  Forrest  that  I  fear;  she  is  too  anxious 
and  excitable  to  nurse  well." 

"As  you  wish,  doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
submissively;  "I  will  obtain  a  nurse  early  to- 
morrow." 

"You  mentioned  that  you  happened  to  have 
a  friend  in  London  who  was  an  eminent  phy- 
sician. May  I  suggest  that  you  telegraph  for 
him?" 

"I  have  already  done  so,"  said  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi; "I  thought  you  would  not  mind.  He 
will,  I  hope,  be  here  early  to-morrow." 

The  doctor  bowed. 

"I  need  not  enjoin  on  you  the  most  scru- 
pulous care,"  said  the  doctor  in  parting;  "the 
least  temporary  failure  in  watchfulness  might 


THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH       131 

have  a  disastrous  result.  Good  night;  I  shall 
call  to-morrow  morning  immediately  after 
breakfast." 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  and  the  patient  were  alone 
in  the  large  bedroom,  lighted  by  a  single  elec- 
tric light  over  the  dressing-table.  She  closed 
the  door  softly;  yes,  she  was  alone  with  him. 
All  had  gone  well;  all  had  fallen  out  as  she 
had  intended.  The  course  was  clear,  the 
action  safe,  simple,  perfect.  She  walked  to- 
wards the  bed,  and  the  soft  swish  of  her  deli- 
cate grey  gown  disturbed  the  silence  of  the 
apartment.  She  looked  down — she,  with  the 
flashing  eye  and  the  hue  of  health — she  looked 
down  upon  this  sufferer  stretched  so  suddenly 
under  the  fell  stroke  of  unexpected  disease. 
She  smiled  with  the  cold  glittering  joy  of  one 
who  has  no  scruples,  no  hesitation — nothing 
but  desire  to  be  gratified.  Arthur  lay  half- 
unconscious,  moaning  now  and  then,  and  now 
and  then  dropping  ofif  into  a  brief  sleep;  here, 
helpless,  feeble,  flickering,  was  the  man  who 
had  dared  by  his  obstinacy  to  check  the 
most  magnificent  scheme  of  her  career!  It 
was  too  funny — too  excruciatingly  funny! 
Forty-eight  hours  ago  he  had  withstood  her 


132       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

with  all  the  resolution  of  youth  and  strength. 
Now — now  he  was  a  candle.  Poof!  and  the 
flame  would  be  gone,  never  to  be  rekindled. 

Arthur  opened  his  eyes  and  made  some  faint 
sign. 

"Thirsty?"  she  queried,  gently;  'T  must 
give  you  your  medicine." 

With  adroit  movements  she  took  the  bottle 
from  the  night-table,  poured  out  the  dose,  and 
put  the  glass  to  his  lips,  supporting  his  head  as 
he  drank  it  off. 

"Sylvie?"  he  murmured. 

"She  is  resting  awhile,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi. 
"The  poor  thing  was  dreadfully  tired.  Now 
you  must  rest,  too ;  you  must  try  to  go  to  sleep." 

She  passed  a  cool,  firm  hand  across  his  wet 
forehead.  The  throb  of  his  agony  communi- 
cated itself  to  her.  She  smiled  again  imper- 
ceptibly as  it  occurred  to  her  with  renewed 
force  how  ill  the  man  was. 

Then  he  slept,  unconscious  of  the  sinister 
forces  arrayed  against  him. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  went  and  sat  by  the  fire  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room.  Although  it  was 
August,  there  had  been  a  sudden  change  in  the 
weather,  and  the  doctor  had  laid  down  the 
strictest  injunction  that  the  temperature  of  the 


THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH       133 

sick  chamber  should  be  kept  absolutely  level  at 
63  degrees. 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  elapsed  in  oppressive 
silence.  At  length  Mrs.  Cavalossi  went  to  the 
door  and  listened  intently.  Not  a  sound  any- 
where, save  Arthur's  heavy  breathing.  She 
looked  at  him  again :  the  sweat  stood  in  beads 
on  his  brow,  but  he  was  indubitably  asleep. 

The  moment  had  come. 

With  exquisite  lightness  of  touch  she  care- 
fully drew  down  the  bedclothes  till  his 
shoulders  and  chest  were  exposed.  He  slept 
on.  She  went  to  the  window,  pulled  the  blind 
aside.  It  was  raining,  and  the  sky  was  torn 
and  grey  with  ragged,  racing  clouds;  she 
fancied  she  could  hear  the  dull  surge  of  the 
sea. 

She  turned  round  abruptly,  and,  after  listen- 
ing again,  moved  the  great  screen  that  stood 
between  the  window  and  the  bed.  Then  she 
felt  for  the  catch  of  the  window;  fortunately 
it  was  undone.  With  a  happy,  deliberate  sigh 
she  noiselessly  pushed  up  the  window  inch  by 
inch — inch  by  inch — till  it  stood  open  over  a 
foot.  The  cold  air  of  a  rainy  night  wandered 
into  the  room — even  she  shivered  at  its  con- 
tact.    It  blew  across  the  intervening  space  and 


134      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

disturbed  the  damp   locks  of  the  sick  man. 

He  slept  on,  unaware  that  the  shaft  of  death 
had  struck  hin 

All  over  his  head  and  shoulders  played  the 
air  which  had  swept  across  leagues  of  ocean, 
through  leagues  of  rain — the  pure  atmosphere 
to  breathe  which  the  inhabitants  of  cities  will 
travel  hundreds  of  miles;  but  to  Arthur  it  was 
death. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  perched  herself  on  the  win- 
dow-sill and  watched  calmly.  There  were 
chances  against  her  even  now,  but  she  accepted 
them.  If  he  awoke!  He  stirred  once,  but 
she  never  stirred.  Twenty  minutes  passed; 
then,  just  as  softly  as  she  had  opened  it,  she 
closed  the  window. 

"The  most  scrupulous  care  1"  she  murmured, 
mimicking  the  doctor. 

At  that  very  instant,  waking  up,  Arthur 
spoke.     She  approached  the  bed. 

"You  mustn't  disturb  the  clothes,  Arthur 
dear,"  she  said,  and  gently  raised  them  again 
round  his  shoulders.  "Will  you  have  some 
lemonade?" 

"I'm  worse,"  he  said,  after  he  had  drunk. 
"I  can  feel  it  all  through  my  body;  I'm  worse 
than  I  was  an  hour  ago." 


THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH       135 

"No,  no,  you  are  better  really.  People 
always  feel  worse  in  the  night." 

"Is  the  fire  burning?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  it's  a  beautiful  fire,"  she  answered. 

"I'm  l' 'lied  to  the  bone,"  he  said;  and  then 
put  his  flushed  face  meekly  down  upon  the 
pillow. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi,  with  a  silent  movement, 
seized  the  screen  and  pulled  it  back  to  its  place. 
As  she  did  so  it  slipped,  and  would  have  fallen 
against  the  window  had  she  not  caught  it  in 
time.  With  a  little  exclamation  of  annoyance 
she  lifted  it  upright.  All  was  well.  A  creak 
startled  her;  her  eyes  travelled  like  lightning 
to  the  door. 

"Sylviane!"  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

The  girl  stood  there  with  wide,  frightened 
eyes,  and  outstretched  right  hand,  her  white 
dressing-gown  clutched  to  her  with  the  left. 

"What  is  it,  Sylviane?"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
calmly. 

"I  dreamt  he  was  dying,  and  so  I  came. 
What  were  you  doing  with  that  screen, 
mother?" 

"I  accidentally  nearly  knocked  It  over; 
but  you  must  really  go  back  to  bed,   Syl- 


vie." 


136      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Mother,"  she  entreated,  and  came  near  the 
bed. 

They  stood  on  opposite  sides,  mother  and 
the  daughter,  and  the  sick  man  between  them. 

''He  is  worse,"  said  Sylviane,  ir  .1  breath- 
less whisper. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi,  lead- 
ing her  daughter  away  from  the  bedside,  "you 
must  try  to  keep  calm.  Personally,  I  do  not 
think  he  is  any  worse;  but  he  is  certainly  not 
any  better.  No  one  can  fight  against  fate. 
We  have  done  all  that  could  be  done,  and  we 
must  hope  that  he  will  recover." 

Sylviane  started  away  from  her  mother's 
caress. 

"Why  did  you  force  me  to  go  to  bed?"  she 
cried  under  her  breath. 

"You  needed  rest,  my  dear  girl,"  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi answered  imperturbably. 

"Why  wouldn't  you  let  me  stay  up  and 
nurse  him  to  the  last?"  Sylviane  cried  out 
again  in  the  same  accents,  ignoring  her 
mother's  answer. 

"Don't  get  hysterical,  Sylviane,"  said  the 
mother. 

"You  seem  to  have  forgotten  that  I  am  his 


THE  ANGEL  OF  DEATH       137 

wife.     Oh!  if  I  had  stayed  up  I  should  not 
have  dreamt — I  should  not  have  dreamt " 

"What?" 
_    "That  dream,  that  dream!     Mother,"  she 
continued  quickly,  "is  the  window  shut?" 

"Of  course  it  is  shut,  my  dear  silly  girl;  I 
have  been  most  particular.  Now,  if  you  are 
ready  to  take  your  turn  in  here,  go  and  dress." 

There  was  a  discreet  tap  at  the  door,  and 
Adela  entered.  The  clock  in  the  corridor 
struck  eleven.  Catching  her  mistress's  eye, 
Adela  beckoned,  and  Mrs.  Cavalossi  left  the 
room.     Husband  and  wife  were  alone. 

"Dr.  Colpus  is  here,  madam,"  said  Adela  to 
her  mistress  in  the  corridor. 

"Dr.  Colpus?" 

"Yes,  madam;  he  has  just  arrived  by  the 
mail." 

"My  dream!"  exclaimed  Sylviane,  and  fell 
into  a  chair  sobbing. 

The  sick  man  stirred  on  the  bed,  and  Syl- 
viane ran  to  him.  Mrs.  Cavalossi  gave  a  few 
brief  orders  to  the  tireless  and  invaluable 
Adela,  who  seemed  never  to  take  or  to  need 
rest. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"spilt  milk" 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  hurried  to  the  drawing-room. 
Dr.  Colpus  was  removing  his  gloves. 

"I  wired  you  to  come  to-morrow,"  she  be- 
gan, with  some  sign  of  vexation. 

"I  preferred  to  come  at  once,"  said  Dr. 
Colpus;  "the  case  seemed  serious." 

"It  is  no  longer  serious,"  she  said,  lightly, 
having  shut  the  door;  "it  is  decided." 

"He  is  better?" 

"He  is  dying — he  cannot  recover." 

Something  peculiar  in  the  woman's  voice 
arrested  his  attention. 

"What  have  you  done?"  he  asked  her,  per- 
emptorily. "What  is  this  game  you  are  play- 
ing down  here  all  alone?" 

"The  local  doctor" — she  answered,  with 
composure — "the  local  doctor  said  that  any 
change  of  temperature  would  be  fatal.  So  I 
opened  the  window  for  half  an  hour  while  he 
was  asleep — it  seemed  to  me  much  the  best 

138 


"SPILT  MILK"  139 

thing  to  do.  It  is  over  now,  and  it  serves  him 
right;  people  so  stupid  as  he  is  have  no  right 
to  live.  When  he  is  out  of  the  w^ay  wc  can 
prove  his  relationship  to  Peterson,  and  there 
will  be  no  further  bother.  He  has  made  his 
will,  as  we  know,  and  everything  will  be  Syl- 
viane's;  therefore,  everything  will  be  mine. 
Confess  that  I  have  arranged  it  neatly,  and — 
kiss  me." 

Dr.  Colpus  sank  into  a  chair,  ignoring  the 
invitation  of  her  rosy  mouth. 

"Marie!"  he  gasped.  His  face  flushed 
purple,  then  white.  Then,  with  a  tremendous 
effort,  he  pulled  himself  together. 

"Are  you  indisposed?"  she  asked  icily. 

"No,"  he  replied,  and  as  he  spoke  he  sat 
bolt  upright  in  the  chair,  and  burst  out  laugh- 
ing.    "You  are  too  much  for  me,"  he  added. 

"Why?"  she  queried  with  an  air  of  inno- 
cence. 

"The  audacity  of  trying  that  trick  on 
again!" 

"What  trick?" 

"The  open  window  trick,  you  infernal 
witch!" 

"May  I  ask  you  to  explain  exactly  what  you 


mean?" 


HO       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Did  not  the  late  Signer  Gabriele  Cavalossi 
die  of  an  open  window,  when  he  was  suffering 
from  an  attack  of  bronchitis?  And  was  not 
the  window  opened  by  his  wife?" 

She  gazed  at  him  in  silence. 

"You  thought  no  one  knew  the  cause  of 
Cavalossi's  death.  But  I  knew;  and,  what  is 
more,  I  was  told  by  some  one,  a  mere  servant, 
who  saw  the  trick  done  from  the  outside  of  the 
palazzo." 

"Giovanni,  the  cowherd?"  she  questioned. 

"The  same." 

"But  Giovanni  is  dead,"  she  said,  and 
laughed  easily. 

"Yes;  but  who  knows  that  Giovanni  did  not 
tell  some  one  else  before  he  died — some  one 
less  discreet  and  loyal  than  me?" 

"Bah!"  said  Mrs.  Cavalossi;  and  she  ap- 
proached Dr.  Colpus  and  kissed  him. 
"Thank  heaven  we  are  neither  of  us  senti- 
mentalists." 

This  singular  couple,  united  equally  by 
crime  and  an  intense  passion — this  couple 
whose  wickedness  was  so  cold,  reasoned,  and 
sincere,  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  altogether 
angry  with  them  as  one  would  be  angry  with 


"SPILT  MILK"  141 

sinners  who  tried  to  gloss  over  their  sins  by 
specious  argument — this  couple  remained 
hand  in  hand  and  silent  for  the  space  of  about 
a  minute. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts  1"  said  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  to  her  betrothed,  who  was  gazing  at 
her. 

He  started,  as  though  awakened  swiftly  to 
the  realities  of  the  present,  and  cleared  his 
throat. 

"Marie,  if  he  dies,  all  is  lost;  that  is  why 
I  hurried  down." 

"Lostl"  she  repeated,  frowning.  "But  you 
positively  assured  me  that  the  claim  was  per- 
fectly clear!" 

"So  it  is,  if  Forrest  is  alive  to  make  the 
claim.  But  if  he  is  dead,  how  shall  we  prove 
his  identity,  on  which  everything  depends? 
There  will  have  to  be  exhumation — a  thousand 
things.  It  couldn't  be  done.  The  question 
would  be  too  awkward,  Marie."  There  was 
a  mild  reproach  in  his  tone.  "You  seem  de- 
termined to  ruin  us.  Do  you  not  recollect 
that  at  our  memorable  little  dinner  party,  the 
other  evening,  Arthur  Forrest  told  you  very 
plainly  that  no  claim  could  be  substantiated 


142       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

without  his  personal  assistance?  Arthur  For- 
rest happened  to  be  perfectly  correct  in  that 
statement." 

She  sat  down,  cowed.  There  was  silence. 
She  could  think  of  nothing  to  say.  Her  heart 
was  bursting  with  sullen,  futile  anger. 

"I  thought  he  was  merely  boasting,"  she 
murmured. 

"Forrest  is  a  sort  of  man  that  never  boasts, 
and  that  never  says  anything  without  good 
grounds." 

''Well,"  she  said,  "it's  no  use  crying  over 
spilt  milk." 

Never  in  the  whole  of  her  life  did  Mrs. 
Cavalossi  use  a  phrase  more  thoroughly  char- 
acteristic of  her  than  this  one — "It's  no  use 
crying  over  spilt  milk."  She  was  a  criminal, 
utterly  vicious;  but  there  was  a  strain  of 
Napoleonic  grandeur  in  her  composition. 

"It  should  have  occurred  to  you,"  Dr.  Col- 
pus  said  at  length,  "that  of  the  two  Arthurs 
the  other  Arthur  was  more  in  the  way."  He 
smiled  calmly. 

"TAf  other  Arthur?''''  she  repeated  after 
him. 

"Yes." 

"Ah!"  Mrs.   Cavalossi  uttered  the  mono- 


"SPILT  MILK"  143 

syllable  as  though  she  had  been  struck  by  a 
sudden  arrow  of  light.     There  was  a  pause. 

"He  is  a  nice  boy — the  other  Arthur,"  she 
said. 

"How  do  you  know — have  you  met  him?" 

"He  introduced  himself  to  me  the  other 
morning.  He  was  deliciously  impertinent 
and  boyish;  but  I  think  there  is  something 
more  in  him  than  mere  impertinence  and  boy- 
ishness.    However Well,  what  are  you 

going  to  do?  It's  all  over  with  my  respected 
son-in-law." 

"I  will  see  your  son-in-law  at  once,"  said 
Dr.  Colpus,  starting  up. 

"I  tell  you  it  is  useless,"  she  said,  bitterly; 
"I  have  made  too  sure — there  is  no  hope." 

"There  is  always  hope.  I  will  save  him. 
Yes,  there  is  always  hope,"  he  repeated. 

"Not  when  I  have  been  at  work,"  she  said. 

The  doctor  seemed  to  recoil  from  those  ter- 
rible words,  but  only  for  an  instant. 

"Take  me  to  him,"  he  said;  "I  will  save 
him." 


PART  II 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  OTHER  ARTHUR 

Arthur  Peterson,  the  young  man  whom 

Forrest  had  met  on  the  Boulogne  steamer,  and 
who  had  so  outrageously  tried  to  flirt  with 
Mrs.  Cavalossi  on  Folkestone  Leas,  sat  in  the 
library  at  Radway  Grange.  Let  it  be  said 
that  the  library  was  not  a  library,  and  the 
Grange  not  a  grange.  The  library  happened 
to  be  a  rather  large  room  fitted  up  with  two 
desks,  a  number  of  pigeon-holes,  and  some  tin 
boxes — there  were  a  few  volumes  in  a  dwarf 
bookcase ;  but  these  comprised  only  such  litera- 
ture as  local  directories,  the  "Post  Oflice 
Guide,"  joint-stock  year  books,  some  works  on 
coal  mining,  and  a  ready  reckoner.  The  late 
owner  of  the  Grange,  Arthur  Peterson's 
father,  had  been  by  no  means  of  a  bookish  dis- 
position. As  for  the  Grange,  it  was  an  early 
Victorian  erection  in  the  Palladian  style,  and 
with  its  stucco  front  and  stiff  portico  it  bore 
about  as  much  resemblance  to  a  grange  as  a 

147 


148       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

railway  station  bears  to  a  cathedral.  Never- 
theless it  was  of  respectable  size,  containing 
some  fifty  rooms,  and  it  had  always  been  called 
the  Grange.  It  might  have  been  kept  up 
handsomely  on  an  income  of  three  thousand 
a  year.  The  late  owner  had  sixty  times  that 
income,  yet  the  place  satisfied  him.  He  had 
not  even  kept  it  up  handsomely;  he  had  merely 
kept  it  up,  being  a  person  in  no  way  prone  to 
domestic  extravagances.  It  stood,  roughly 
speaking,  halfway  between  Crewe  and  that 
immense  industrial  district  called  the  Five 
Towns.  It  was  in  Staffordshire,  but  had  it 
been  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  north-west  it 
would  have  been  in  Cheshire.  Radway 
Green  was  the  nearest  village,  and  Turnhill 
the  nearest  town ;  but  Crewe,  owing  to  its  posi- 
tion on  the  main  line  of  the  London  and 
North-Western  Railway,  was  regarded  by 
Radway  Grange  as  the  most  convenient  point 
for  reaching  civilisation,  though  it  was  seven 
full  miles  ofif.  The  Grange  lay  in  a  hollow. 
Just  behind  it  rose  a  hill,  and  from  this  on 
clear  days  and  nights  you  could  see  the  smoke 
and  flame  of  the  Five  Towns,  out  of  whose 
mines  and  ironworks  old  Peterson,  the  million- 
aire, had  made  his  millions. 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         149 

Old  Peterson,  the  millionaire,  had  gone  to 
his  own  place,  and  the  whole  of  the  district, 
including  the  Five  Towns,  was  wondering 
what  sort  of  a  figure  young  Peterson,  the  new 
millionaire,  was  about  to  cut  in  local  life, 
social  and  political.  The  district  had  both 
loved  and  feared  old  Peterson — it  loved  him 
because  he  would  never  "stand  any  nonsense;" 
and,  curiously  enough,  it  feared  him  precisely 
for  the  same  reason.  This  is  human  nature. 
Old  Peterson  had  taken  no  interest  whatever 
in  local  life;  he  had  extracted  his  vast  profits 
from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  he  had  paid 
wages  every  Saturday  morning  with  the  exac- 
titude of  a  chronometer  and  the  niggardliness 
of  a  government  department — and  that  was 
all.  He  had  never  desired  to  represent  the 
division  in  the  House  of  Commons,  or  to  bully 
the  county  council,  or  to  pose  as  a  benefactor, 
a  philanthropist,  or  a  faddist.  He  had  posed 
merely  as  what  he  was — a  millionaire  and  an 
employer  of  labour.  There  had  been  only  one 
strike  at  the  Peterson  works:  that  strike  had 
lasted  forty-two  weeks;  during  it  many  chil- 
dren had  died  of  starvation,  several  mothers 
had  been  convicted  of  theft,  and  sundry  at- 
tempts had  been  made  to  shoot  old  Peterson, 


I50      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

the  millionaire.  But  in  the  end  old  Peterson 
had  won.  The  men  "went  in"  uncondition- 
ally, beaten  and  cowed.  Whereupon,  having 
thus  established  his  triumph  old  Peterson  had 
calmly  granted  the  rise  in  wages  which  the 
men  had  originally  struck  for.  This  incident 
transformed  Peterson  into  a  public  character. 
His  name  went  round  the  world  in  sensational 
newspaper  paragraphs,  and  came  back  again 
via  New  York  embroidered  with  a  thousand 
impossible  legends. 

It  was  stated  in  the  neighbourhood  that  old 
Peterson  was  very  harsh  to  his  wife,  Lady 
Evelyn.  Certainly,  when  she  drove  into  the 
Five  Towns  behind  her  costly  and  dangerous 
horses,  she  had  the  sad  look  of  a  queen  who 
has  lived  too  long.  She  was  a  fragile  flower, 
and  Peterson  knew  nothing  and  cared  less 
about  the  proper  way  to  treat  fragile  flowers. 
But,  at  any  rate,  he  never  stooped  so  low  as 
to  keep  her  short  of  money.  Money  in  plenty 
she  had,  as  befitted  an  earl's  daughter.  One 
day  she  died — Arthur  was  fourteen  then. 
She  just  died;  and  it  was  reported  that  old 
Peterson,  on  hearing  the  news  in  his  office,  ex- 
claimed: "H'm!"  and  went  on  dictating  a 
letter.     Probablv  this  tale  is  not  entirely  ac- 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         151 

curate;  but  it  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  stories 
which  were  afloat  concerning  old  Peterson. 

It  cannot  be  wondered  at,  therefore,  that 
young  Arthur's  advent  in  the  district  as  master 
and  millionaire  created  a  flutter  of  anticipa- 
tion. Arthur,  fortunately  or  unfortunately, 
was  unaware  of  this  flutter.  He  had  no  in- 
terest in  industrial  affairs;  in  fact,  he  did  not 
quite  know  where  he  stood.  He  was  younger 
than  his  age,  and,  though  endowed  with  a 
mind  powerful  and  obstinate  in  some  direc- 
tions, he  had  peculiarities,  and  he  had  by  no 
means  yet  "found  himself." 

It  was  afternoon,  and  the  December  light 
was  fading.  He  sat  in  a  worn  armchair — 
apparently  he  was  doing  nothing;  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  he  was  very  busy  getting  used  to  the 
idea  of  riches.  He  had  now  been  in  posses- 
sion of  Radway  Grange,  and  in  nominal  pos- 
session of  his  father's  fortune,  for  about  a 
couple  of  months.  It  was  a  complicated  busi- 
ness, he  found,  entering  into  an  inheritance  so 
vast  as  his.  He  had  seen  his  solicitor,  Mr. 
Thrush,  who  was  also  the  trustee  of  his  father's 
will,  many  times ;  but  up  to  now  there  had  been 
no  big  interview,  no  crucial  conversation,  at 
which  affairs  should  be  settled  in  huge  lumps, 


152      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

as  it  were,  and  mighty,  far-reaching  instruc- 
tions given  and  received.  Both  solicitor  and 
client  had  been  occupied  with  innumerable 
details — absurd  details  which  refused  to  be 
put  on  one  side.  These  details  had  at  last  been 
disposed  of,  and  the  great  final  interview  was, 
in  fact,  to  take  place  that  afternoon;  Arthur 
Peterson  was  even  now  expecting  Mr.  Thrush 
to  arrive  from  Manchester. 

He  looked  at  his  watch;  it  was  half-past 
three.     At  that  moment  a  servant  entered. 
"Mr.  Thrush,  sir,  and  this  letter.'* 
Peterson  took  the  letter,  and,  observing  the 
handwriting,  opened  it  with  eagerness  and  be- 
gan to  read.     The  missive  ran : — 

"London:    December   15. 

"My  dear  Arthur,— Renewed  thanks  for 
your  constant  inquiries.  After  an  infernally 
long  bout  I  am  now  perfectly  convalescent; 
people  tell  me  now  that  it  was  a  miracle  I 
recovered  at  all.  Old  Colpus,  of  whom  you 
have  heard,  and  who,  by  the  way,  has  married 
my  esteemed  mater-in-law,  did  the  trick,  and 
of  course  I'm  awfully  grateful  to  him.  Well, 
I  am  writing  to  say  that  Sylviane  and  I  can 
now  accept  your  invitation.  Please  expect  us 
on  Friday  afternoon  next,  the  i8th,  unless  that 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         153 

will  be  inconvenient  to  you.  The  train  gets 
to  Crewe  at  4.30  P.M.,  and  we  trust  you  will 
meet  us  yourself  or  send  some  one.  Sylviane 
is  a  bit  out  of  health,  or  rather  out  of  spirits; 
I  guess  ny  illness  has  been  too  much  of  a 
strain  on  her.  She  is  anxious  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance. Au  revoir  till  Friday. — Yours 
ever, 

"Arthur  C.  Forrest. 

"P.S. — Try  not  to  be  too  magnificent  with 
your  millions;  remember  I  am  a  simple  sort 
of  person,  and  that  in  the  days  when  we 
chummed  you  yourself  were  fairly  simple  too. 

"A.  C.  F." 

Peterson  smiled  absently  as  he  finished  the 
letter,  and  then  perceived  that  the  servant  was 
waiting. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "show  Mr.  Thrush  up  here, 
and  bring  a  couple  of  lamps  and  some  tea." 

The  only  thing  distinctively  legal  about  the 
external  aspect  of  Mr.  Thrush,  the  eminent 
Manchester  solicitor,  was  his  sm.all  brown  bag, 
which  seemed  to  be  part  of  him  when  he  was 
on  a  journey;  otherwise  he  resembled  a  coun- 
try gentleman  of  outdoor  tendencies.  He 
wore  a  bowler  hat,  a  blue  suit,  and  a  pink 


154      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

necktie;  he  was  clean-shaven,  and  had  a  full, 
rather  square  countenance;  his  age  was  fifty- 
five,  and  he  looked  forty-five.  No  cleverer 
or  more  experienced  lawyer  than  Mr.  Thrush 
existed  in  the  Midlands. 

"I  shall  have  just  an  hour  and  a  quarter 
here,"  he  said  to  Peterson,  after  they  had 
drunk  tea  and  chatted.  *'I  have  to  go  to 
Derby.  Shall  we  start  on  our  business  now, 
and  discuss  the  weather  afterwards — if  we 
have  time?"     He  smiled  humorously. 

Peterson  nodded.  Peterson,  though  the 
master  of  millions,  still  had  the  look  of  a  boy, 
with  his  round  smooth  face  and  rather  short 
stature. 

"You  said  in  your  last  letter  that  you  wished 
to  ask  me  some  questions;  what  are  they?" 
said  Mr.  Thrush. 

''Well,"  Peterson  began,  clearing  his  throat, 
"I  want  to  know  exactly  what  I  own,  and  what 
it  is  worth,  and  what  it  brings  in;  I  am  not 
yet  clear  on  these  points.  You  handed  me  a 
sum  of  thirty-five  thousand  pounds  in  cash  two 
months  ago,  Mr.  Thrush.  It  may  interest  you 
to  learn  that  I  have  spent  a  good  bit  of  that." 

"Not  on  the  Grange,"  said  Mr.  Thrush, 
laughing,  and  looking  round  at  the  bare  room. 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         155 

''No,  I  am  not  sufficiently  interested  in  this 
Grange;  but,  as  you  know,  I  am  building  an- 
other one." 

"Which  will  entail  a  larger  outlay?" 

"Exactly." 

"I  have  heard  that  architecture  is  your 
hobby,"  said  Mr.  Thrush. 

"My  hobby?" 

"Your  speciality,  let  us  say." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"One  of  my  clerks,  who  took  his  holiday  in 
Italy  this  last  summer,  and  saw  you  making 
drawings  of  the  Certosa  of  Pavia." 

"Ah,  yes!"  said  Arthur  Peterson,  and  then 
added,  as  if  faintly  annoyed,  "it  appears,  then, 
that  my  goings-on  are  discussed  even  in  Man- 
chester; I  had  no  idea  I  was  so  important  a 
personage." 

Nothing  about  him  was  more  striking  than 
the  change  in  his  demeanour  since  he  had 
begun  to  handle  his  inheritance.  His  looks 
were  still  boyish,  but  at  times  there  came  over 
him  an  air  of  weariness,  of  pettishness,  which 
suited  ill  that  countenance  normally  so  fresh 
and  open. 

"Of  course,  you  are  a  public  character,"  said 
Mr.  Thrush,  "and,  as  such,  your  doings  will 


156       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

be  discussed — I  hope  always  with  respectful 
friendliness." 

Arthur's  interest  in  architecture  was  per- 
fectly genuine.  He  was  singularly  lacking  in 
tastes,  predilections;  but  he  did  sincerely  feel 
an  attraction  towards  the  subject  of  architec- 
ture. Hence  the  Palladian  ugliness  of  Rad- 
way  Grange  had  annoyed  him  since  the  very 
earliest  of  his  years  of  discretion,  and  it  had 
long  been  his  design  to  build  a  more  beautiful 
house  on  a  better  site.  With  a  wild  energy 
which  disclosed  at  once  the  strength  and  weak- 
nesses of  his  charatcer,  he  had  commenced 
operations  immediately  upon  his  succession  to 
the  estate;  and  several  months  before  this  he 
had  employed  a  young  architect,  whom  he  be- 
lieved to  be  a  genius,  to  create  the  new  abode. 

"Yes,"  Arthur  said  absently,  "my  new 
Grange  will  be  the  finest  private  house  in  the 
county." 

"Delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Thrush 
with  formal  politeness. 

"But  you  don't  think  it  will,  all  the  same," 
said  Arthur. 

"I  hope  it  will,  Mr.  Peterson;  but  I  am  no 
authority  on  architecture,  and  shall  not  pre- 
sume to  judge.     By  the  way,  what  shall  you 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         157 

do  with  the  present  house? — a  commodious 
residence,  my  dear  sir." 

"I  shall  pull  the  d d  thing  down,"  Ar- 
thur exclaimed,  with  apparently  causeless 
fury.  "Its  ugliness  is  enough  to  give  you  the 
measles." 

"Tut-tut;  you  are  exigent,  my  friend — your 
travels  have  made  you  over-critical." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  I  will  give  this  talkative 
county  something  to  talk  about  with  my  new 
house.  And  now,  to  return,  Mr.  Thrush,  how 
much  will  the  owner  of  this  new  house  have 
to  spend?" 

"Listen,"  said  Mr.  Thrush,  taking  up  a 
paper.  "This  is  a  list  of  your  possessions. 
First,  you  have  six  thousand  shares  of  a  hun- 
dred pounds  each  in  the  Peterson  Collieries 
and  Ironworks,  Limited.  These  bring  in  an 
income  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  a  year, 
and  they  are  worth,  at  current  prices,  about 
one  million  eight  hundred  thousand  pounds." 

"Excellent,"  said  Peterson  dryly. 

"Then  you  have  four  hundred  thousand 
pounds'  worth  of  London  and  North-Western 
Railway  stock,  of  which  company  you  are  the 
third  largest  shareholder.  This  brings  in  six- 
teen thousand  a  year." 


158       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Good,"  said  Peterson. 

'Then  you  have  two  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  and  five  hundred  pounds  in  Consols, 
bringing  in  six  thousand  a  year." 

"We  are  descending  to  trifles,"  said  Peter- 
son. 

"Then  you  have  cottage  property  all  over 
the  Five  Towns  worth  fifty-two  thousand 
pounds,  and  bringing  in  five  thousand.  You 
also  have  this  house,  and  the  two  thousand 
acres  of  land  attached — value  uncertain." 

"Leave  it  out,"  said  Peterson,  laconically. 

"Then  you  have  miscellaneous  shares  and 
mortgages  to  the  tune  of  three  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand  pounds,  yielding  nine  thousand 
a  year.     And,  lastly " 

"Yes,  lastly?" 

"You  requested  me  to  get  some  cash  in  hand. 
I  have  done  so.  Lastly,  you  have  two  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  on  deposit,  bringing  in 
a  paltry  eighty  pounds  a  week." 

"And  that  is  all?" 

"That  is  all." 

"Now  for  the  total." 

"The  total  value,  roughly  speaking,  is  three 
millions  one  hundred  and  two  thousand  five 
hundred  pounds." 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         159 

"Then  my  father's  fortune  has  increased 
since  his  death?" 

"Big  fortunes  have  a  pleasant  habit  of  in- 
creasing automatically.  Yes,  it  has  increased 
by  a  little  over  three  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  The  amount  would  have  been  more, 
but  death  duties  arc  now  lamentably  heavy." 

"And  the  present  income?" 

"The  present  income  is,  as  nearly  as  possi- 
ble, two  hundred  thousand  a  year." 

"Thanks,"  said  Arthur  Peterson.  "Now, 
Mr.  Thrush,  I  have  some  simple  instructions 
for  you.  You  are  much  older  than  me;  you 
are  also  my  legal  adviser." 

"Let  me  put  in,"  Mr.  Thrush  interrupted 
pleasantly,  "that  you,  Mr.  Peterson,  are  my 
most  important  client,  my  richest  client.  My 
other  clients  come  to  see  me;  I  come  to  see 

"I  regard  it  as  an  honour,"  Peterson  re- 
turned, smiling.  "I  was  saying  that  you  are 
older  than  me,  and  that  you  are  my  legal  ad- 
viser. The  instructions  which  I  am  about  to 
give  you  will  surprise  you.  Nevertheless,  let 
me  warn  you  beforehand  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  argue  about  them —  I  have  made  up  my 
mind.!' 


i6o       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

*T  allow  nothing  to  surprise  me,"  said  Mr. 
Thrush;  "continue." 

"My  instructions  are  these:  You  will  sell 
all  my  property,  of  whatever  kind,  except  the 
consols,  and  you  will  buy  consols." 

Mr.  Thrush  had  just  stated  that  he  allowed 
nothing  to  surprise  him;  but,  nevertheless,  he 
now  found  himself  in  a  state  which,  without 
exaggeration,  might  be  termed  a  state  of 
amazement. 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  exclaimed. 

No  sooner  had  this  experienced  man  of  af- 
fairs uttered  the  words  than  he  perceived  that 
he  had  committed  an  error  of  discretion. 

"Mad?"  said  Arthur  Peterson.  "Oh!  peo- 
ple say  I  am  mad,  do  they?  Do  I  look  mad? 
Is  there  anything  about  me  to  suggest  insan- 
ity, Mr.  Thrush?" 

The  young  man  rose  from  his  chair  and 
walked  to  and  fro. 

"You  mistake  me,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Thrush  soothingly.  "We  lawyers  are  prone, 
I  am  afraid,  to  regard  any  proceeding  not 
marked  by  business  principles  as — well,  as 
mad.  I  spoke  only  in  that  sense.  And  of 
course  I  am  not  so  wrapped  up  in  commercial- 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         i6i 

ism  as  to  be  unable  to  perceive  that  there  may 
be  other  points  of  view  than  ours." 

Mr.  Thrush's  manner  was  perfect.  Abso- 
lutely free  from  servility,  it  yet  gave  the  young 
millionaire  to  understand  that  the  old  lawyer 
regarded  him  with  respect. 

"I  should  not  be  doing  my  duty  towards  you 
professionally,"  the  solicitor  continued,  "if  I 
did  not  treat  such  instructions  as  you  have  just 
given  me  with  at  least  a  pretence  of  alarm." 
Here  he  laughed,  and  Arthur  Peterson 
laughed  too — loudly. 

"You  grasp  my  instructions?"  said  Arthur. 

"Ah  I"  said  Mr.  Thrush,  after  a  long  breath. 
"You  are  aware,  Mr.  Peterson,  that  this  pro- 
ceeding will  reduce  your  income  from  200,- 
000/.  a  year  to — let  me  see — to  something  un- 
der 100,000/.  a  year;  that  you  will,  therefore, 
be  throwing  away  2,000/.  a  week." 

"I  am  aware  of  it." 

"And  may  I  ask  your  reasons?" 

"Simply  this ;  that  I  want  to  enjoy  my  for- 
tune. As  it  is,  the  worry  of  all  these  various 
shares  and  securities  would  be  the  bane  of  my 
life.  If  my  money  is  in  consols  the  income 
may  be  small  comparatively,  but  it  is  an  in- 


i62       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

come  without  anxiety,  and  beyond  the  schem- 
ings  of  the  Stock  Exchange." 

"That  is  true,"  murmured  Mr.  Thrush. 

"Moreover,  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  spend  loo,- 
ooo/.  a  year,  to  say  nothing  of  200,000/." 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Thrush;  "permit  me  to 
say  that  you  are  an  original  young  man,  Mr. 
Peterson." 

"Perhaps  so;  but  I  want  to  enjoy  myself. 
You  will  carry  out  my  instructions?" 

"Am  I  not  your  solicitor?  But  the  thing 
must  be  done  delicately;  I  shall  want  time. 
To  put  your  colliery  shares,  for  instance,  on 
the  market  all  at  once  would  seriously  lessen 
their  value,  while  to  go  on  to  the  Stock  Ex- 
change and  buy  3,000,000/.  of  Consols  in  a 
lump  would  certainly  send  up  the  price.  I 
shall  want  time,  Mr.  Peterson." 

"I  give  you  six  months.    Will  that  do?" 

"I  will  try." 

"You  spoke  of  200,000/.  cash ;  is  that  at  my 
bankers'?" 

"It  is." 

"Then  I  can  draw  a  cheque  for  25,000/.  in- 
stantly?" 

"You  can." 

Arthur  Peterson  took  his  cheque  book  from 


THE  OTHER  ARTHUR         163 

a  drawer,  and,  writing  out  a  cheque  for  the 
sum  he  had  named,  handed  it  to  Mr.  Thrush. 

"This  is  made  out  to  me,"  said  the  lawyer. 

"It  is  for  you." 

"But  why?" 

"Merely  as  an  acknowledgment  of  your 
services,  and  of  my  appreciation  of  your  for- 
bearance in  not  arguing  with  me  about  my  de- 
cision to  reduce  my  income." 

"Really,  Mr.  Peterson,  I  cannot  accept  it." 

"Why  not?    Are  you,  then,  so  rich?" 

"It  is  so  unusual." 

"Mr.  Thrush,  accept  the  advice  of  a  young- 
ster. Do  not  refuse  that  cheque;  it  is  an  ex- 
presion  of  goodwill,  and  one  should  never  de- 
spise any  expression  of  goodwill." 

For  answer,  Mr.  Thrush  shook  hands  with 
Arthur  Peterson. 

"You  are  too  munificent,"  he  stammered, 
putting  the  cheque  into  his  pocket-book. 

In  half  an  hour,  matters  of  detail  having 
been  discussed,  Mr.  Thrush  had  left  the 
Grange.  He  was  startled,  but  he  was  also  im- 
pressed by  his  young  client. 

"Devilish  odd!"  he  murmured  to  himself  as 
he  got  into  a  first-class  carriage  at  Crewe;  and 
again,  when  he  changed  trains  at  Knype,  he 


i64      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

murmured,  ^'Devilish  odd!"  And,  as  he  left 
the  Midland  station  at  Derby  in  a  Derby  fly, 
he  remarked  to  the  peculiar  sliding  doors  of 
the  fly :     ''There's  something  about  that  young 

man  I  can't  understand.     I  wonder,  now " 

But  the  doors  heard  no  more;  they  never  knew 
what  Mr.  Thrush  wondered.  And  so  Mr. 
Thrush  passes  out  of  the  story. 


CHAPTER  XI 

VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART  AND  SOME 
HARNESS 

The  mare  and  the  dog-cart  stood  waiting  at 
the  door,  a  groom  at  the  mare's  head. 

"Everything  all  right?"  said  Arthur  Peter- 
son as  he  came  down  the  steps  buttoning  his 
gloves. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  groom. 

"I've  only  left  myself  half  an  hour — will 
she  do  it?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  easy,  sir.  I  had  her  out  yes- 
terday morning  for  exercise,  and  she  did 
her  two  mile  in  seven-fifty,  sir.     I  picked  up 

Mr. I  forget  his  name — your  new  valet, 

sir.  Beg  pardon,  sir,  he  seems  to  know  a  bit 
about  horses;  he  said  she  were  a  treat;  so  she 
is,  sir. 

"So  my  new  valet  understands  horses,  does 
he?"  said  Arthur  Peterson  with  amusement, 
being  more  and  more  struck  every  day  by  the 
omniscience  of  the  wonderful  servant  recently 
engaged  from  London. 

i6s 


i66       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"Yes,  sir,  he's  often  in  the  stable,  sir;  seems 
to  like  it.     Handy  man,  sir." 

"Right.  You  needn't  come  with  me.  Has 
the  luggage  cart  started?" 

"Yes,  sir,  half  an  hour  since." 

"Let  go." 

The  black  mare  went  ofif  like  a  gun,  or  a 
stone  from  a  catapult — exactly  as  a  hundred- 
guinea  mare,  handled  by  a  young  man  who 
can  drive  well  and  knows  it,  should  go  off. 
This  mare,  like  a  certain  horse,  was  a  noble 
animal,  but  she  needed  handling;  with  Arthur 
Peterson  at  the  other  end  of  the  reins  she 
had  it. 

Peterson  snatched  a  glance  at  his  watch  as 
they  passed  the  first  milestone  on  the  way  to 
Crewe  Station.  Three  minutes  fifteen  seconds 
for  the  first  mile.  He  reflected  that  it  was 
rather  unceremonious  for  a  millionaire  to 
fetch  guests  from  the  railway  station  in  a  dog- 
cart unaccompanied  by  a  groom.  But  he  had 
not  yet  had  time  to  grow  ceremonious,  and 
moreover  he  had  a  boyish  anxiety  to  show  off 
the  mare  to  Arthur  Forrest,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose she  must  not  be  overweighted  on  the  re- 
turn journey. 

"Jove!     I  hope  the  lovely  Sylviane  won't 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     167 

object  to  travelling  in  a  dog-cart;  never 
thought  of  that,"  he  murmured.  Then  the 
mare  occupied  him  again;  half  a  mile  of 
straight  dead-level  lay  before  him. 

"Now,  Betsy,"  he  chirruped,  and  drew  the 
whip  gently  over  her  flank. 

She  jumped  forward,  and  something  hap- 
pened. The  dog-cart  was  swerved  askew,  and 
the  mare  danced  across  the  road.  With  a 
supreme  effort  he  mastered  her  and  sprang 
out.  A  trace  had  broken  on  the  near  side. 
The  accident  might  have  had  serious  conse- 
quences, but  Peterson  took  it  calmly  enough. 

A  boy  happened  to  be  lounging  along  the 
road  in  front  of  him — a  little  boy  with  big  feet 
and  the  gait  of  a  decrepit  cabman. 

"Hi!"  called  Arthur. 

The  boy  took  no  notice. 

"Hi!"  Arthur  called  again. 

They  boy  turned  round. 

"Didst  call,  mester?"  the  boy  inquired 
blandly,  in  the  dialect  of  the  district,  which  is 
an  extraordinary  mixture  of  the  dialects  of 
Staffordshire  and  of  Cheshire. 

"Of  course  I  called,"  replied  Peterson; 
"don't  ask  silly  questions.  Come  here,  I  want 
you." 


i68       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

''See  any  green  i'  my  eye?"  the  boy  re- 
marked. 

"Come  along,  now;  I've  got  a  job  and  a  six- 
pence for  you." 

Thus  cajoled,  the  boy  came  at  a  pace  learnt 
in  the  arable  clayey  fields  of  Cheshire. 

"Can  you  hold  this  mare,  my  lad?" 

"I  can  hold  a  plough-horse,"  said  the  boy. 

"Well,  catch  on  with  both  hands,  and  mind 
she  doesn't  run  away  with  you." 

The  boy  laughed  and  obeyed. 

Peterson  bent  down  to  take  a  lace  from  his 
boot;  but  when  he  perceived  that  he  wore  but- 
toned boots,  he  cursed  the  shoemaker  at  Old- 
castle  who  had  persuaded  him  that  as  a  self- 
respecting  man  he  must  wear  buttoned  boots 
on  certain  occasions;  Peterson,  by  inherited 
instinct,  was  a  man  who  wore  one  pair  of 
boots  for  most  occasions.  He  looked  next  at 
the  boy's  boots.  The  boy's  boots,  however, 
were  clogs — enormous  shoon,  in  which  the 
Old  Woman  of  the  nursery  rhyme  might  have 
brought  up  a  family. 

"What  sort  of  laces  do  you  wear?"  he  de- 
manded of  the  boy. 

The  boy  sniggered,  as  though  Peterson  had 
made  an  excellent  joke. 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     169 

"Leather?"  asked  Peterson. 

"No,"  said  the  boy. 

"What,  then?" 

"Porpus,  0'  course;  these  are  feyther's  clogs, 
and  he  has  a  fancy  for  porpus." 

"Good,"  said  Peterson,  "take  off  the  right 
boot;  that  seems  to  have  the  best  lace." 

"Dost  see  any  green  i'  my  eye,  mester?"  the 
boy  once  more  asked. 

Peterson  boxed  his  ears,  which  disquieted 
the  mare,  and  the  mare  had  to  be  soothed. 
Time  was  flying. 

"Here's  half  a  crown  for  you,"  said  Peter- 
son. 

"Hafe  a  crahn's  better  than  a  scuft  in  th' 
earhole  any  day,"  said  the  boy  with  precocious 
philosophy;  and  he  removed  his  boot  while 
Peterson  held  the  mare. 

"Thanks,"  said  Peterson. 

"Thank  yo',"  said  the  boy,  as  he  put  on  the 
clog  again,  laceless. 

"That's  the  worst  of  new  harness,"  Peterson 
said  to  himself.  In  five  minutes,  with  the  aid 
of  a  penknife  and  the  porpoise  boot-lace,  he 
had  mended  the  fracture. 

"Gently  now,  Betsy!"  he  instructed  the 
mare;  and  they  did  the  next  four  miles  at  a 


ijo       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

pace  not  exceeding  thirteen  miles  an  hour. 
Then  occurred  a  stiff  rise  of  half  a  mile  or  so 
before  the  descent  into  Crewe.  The  mare 
took  this  well,  and  was  just  enlivening  herself 
at  the  top  of  the  slope,  when  she  shied  at  a 
heap  of  stones  by  the  roadside.  She  zig- 
zagged at  an  angle  of  forty  degrees,  her  ears 
and  tail  restless.  The  next  moment  there  was 
a  sudden  noise — half  a  crunch,  half  a  shriek 
— at  Peterson's  left  hand.  He  looked  round 
and  saw  the  near  wheel  waggling.  In  a  frac- 
tion of  a  second  he  had  jumped  out,  the  reins 
in  his  hand.  At  the  same  instant  the  wheel 
detached  itself  from  the  vehicle,  ran  a  yard  or 
two,  and  fell  over;  the  cart  dropped  with  a 
thud. 

"Great  Scott!"  he  ejaculated;  "what  next?" 
But  he  had  the  mare  firmly  by  the  head,  and 
though  she  struggled  to  get  free  of  the  twisted 
shafts  she  could  do  nothing. 

"Steady,  mare!"  he  coaxed  her.  "You 
won't  reach  Crewe  this  afternoon;  but  I 
shall." 

He  did  in  fact,  reach  Crewe,  and  only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  time;  happily  the 
train  was  twenty  minutes  late.  As  he  drove 
home  with  Arthur  and   Sylviane  along  the 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     171 

dark  lanes  in  a  landau  hired  from  the  Crewe 
Arms,  he  recounted  in  a  nonchalant  manner, 
which  did  him  much  credit,  how  in  the  gath- 
ering dusk  he  had  got  the  mare  out  of  the 
shafts,  led  her  to  the  stable  of  a  wayside  inn 
close  by,  sent  a  couple  of  men  to  remove  the 
damaged  dog-cart,  and  then  done  the  mile  and 
a  half  into  Crewe  at  the  double. 

"That  explains  why  I  was  breathless  when 
you  first  saw  me,  Mrs.  Forrest,"  he  said  to 
Sylviane,  who  sat  opposite  to  him  in  the  car- 
riage. 

She  smiled  gently;  he  noticed  that  she 
seemed  steeped  in  melancholy,  while  her  hus- 
band was  in  admirable  spirits.  ^ 

"You  always  could  manage  a  horse,  Pe- 
terson," said  Forrest,  quietly,  proud  of  his 
friend. 

"It  was  about  the  tightest  fix  I've  been  in," 
Peterson  answered  him. 

"It  seems  strange  that  two  accidents  should 
occur  on  one  journey,"  Sylviane  said,  looking 
at  Peterson. 

"Very;  but  I  have  known  a  wheel  to  come 
ofif  before,  and  I  have  known  a  trace  to  break 
before;  the  two  things  merely  happened  to- 
gether, that's  all." 


172       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"But  sha'n't  you  hold  an  inquiry  among  the 
stable  hands?"  she  pursued. 

"I  shall  make  a  row,"  he  said,  "if  that's 
what  you  mean,"  and  he  laughed. 

"So  long  as  the  mare  is  all  right,  the  bold 
youth  cares  not,"  said  Arthur  Forrest. 

But  Sylviane  would  not  respond  to  the 
mood  of  the  two  men. 

"I  have  always  been  afraid  of  dog-carts  and 
of  fast-trotting  mares,"  she  said,  seriously, 
"they  make  me  shiver." 

"Then  Fm  glad  that  wheel  came  ofif,"  said 
Peterson,  quietly  and  positively. 

"Why?" 

"Because  if  it  hadn't  you  would  have  been 
in  the  dog-cart  and  behind  that  precious  mare, 
instead  of  in  this  landau  and  behind  the  weird 
quadruped  which  the  driver  has  the  audacity 
to  describe  as  a  horse."  He  was  trying  to 
show  his  wit  to  the  fair  creature. 

"With  you  I  should  not  have  been  afraid." 

"You  wouldn't?     Why?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  shouldn't." 

She  gave  him  a  look  of  confidence  which 
enchanted  him.  His  friend's  wife  had,  in 
truth,  made  a  profound  impression  upon  his 
youthful   and  somewhat  mercurial  tempera- 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     173 

ment.  And,  indeed,  Sylviane  was  more  beau- 
tiful than  ever.  The  anxieties  through  which 
she  had  recently  passed  in  connection  with 
her  husband's  illness — of  whose  seriousness 
neither  himself  nor  Peterson  had  any  adequate 
conception — seemed  to  have  added  to  her  face 
a  certain  wistful  and  nun-like  attraction — 
final  touch  of  the  divine. 

When  at  length  the  funereal  trot  of  the 
hired  horse  ended  at  the  front  door  of  the 
Grange,  and  the  housekeeper  had  taken  Syl- 
viane to  her  room,  Peterson  dragged  Arthur 
Forrest  for  a  few  moments  into  his  study, 
which  was  also  a  smoking-room. 

'T  say,  old  man,"  he  blurted  out;  "I  can't 
help  telling  you — she's  absolutely  magnificent. 
She's  an  angel,  and  a  deuced  sight  too  good 
for  you." 

"Fm  glad  you  like  her,"  said  Arthur  For- 
rest, simply.     "She  has  taken  to  you." 

'Think  so?" 

Forrest  nodded,  while  Peterson  almost 
blushed. 

"I  was  immensely  struck  by  your  mother- 
in-law,"  said  Arthur  Peterson;  "but  your  wife 
outshines  her  as  the  sun  outshines  the  moon." 

"Don't  wax  poetical,  my  youth,"  said  For- 


174      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

rest;  "but  if  you  must,  do  not  be  quite  so  ob- 
vious in  the  selection  of  images.  I  was  not 
aware  that  you  had  met  Mrs.  Cavalossi." 

*'Oh,  yes!  On  Folkestone  Leas,"  said  Ar- 
thur Peterson;  and  he  went  off  into  an  eager 
description  of  the  famous  interview  between 
the  mature  beauty  and  his  callow  self.  "I 
imagine,"  he  added,  ''that  Mrs.  Cavalossi 
didn't  take  quite  such  a  fancy  to  me  as  you  are 
kind  enough  to  say  your  wife  has  done." 

"Ah!  well,"  Forrest  commented,  "if  she 
snubbed  you,  I've  no  doubt  you  deserved  it." 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  the  three  sat  in 
the  drawing-room,  where,  by  mutual  consent, 
the  men  were  smoking.  The  apartment  was 
large,  but,  like  the  rest  of  the  house,  it  had  a 
look  of  neglect  and  decay.  The  furniture  was 
mid-Victorian,  solid,  ugly,  but  not  uncomfor- 
table. On  the  walls  were  large  mirrors, 
which  reflected  the  light  of  the  great  central 
candelabrum. 

It  was  the  moment  for  intimate  conversa- 
tion or  for  silence.  The  fire  on  the  great 
hearth  blazed  up  warm  and  inviting;  Sylviane 
and  Peterson  sat  in  easy  chairs  on  either  side 
of  it.  Arthur  Forrest  stood  up,  a  cigarette  in 
one  hand,  a  cup  of  coffee  in  the  other. 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     175 

"Piano  any  good?"  he  questioned  of  Peter- 
son. 

"Pretty  fair,  I  think;  never  touch  it  my- 
self." 

"I'll  give  you  one  of  the  old  tunes — you 
remember,  eh?" 

"What— 'Carmen'?" 

With  a  nod  Arthur  Forrest,  putting  down 
his  cup,  went  over  to  the  piano,  which  was  at 
the  far  end  of  the  room,  and  began  to  play  the 
Toreador  song. 

Sylviane  leaned  suddenly  towards  Peterson. 
"That  song  seems  to  have  memories  for  you," 
she  said;  "tell  me  about  your  early  friendship 
with  my  husband." 

"What  shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  how  did  you  first 
meet?" 

"It  was  like  this.  We  were  each  of  us 
driving  up  in  a  fiacre  to  the  Midi  Station  in 
Paris,  and  his  fiacre  ran  into  mine,  and  there 
was  a  fearful  collision  and  spilling  of  lug- 
gage, and  a  tremendous  outpouring  of  French 
and  English  oaths;  at  least,  that's  my  version. 
It's  only  fair  to  tell  you  that  your  husband's 
version  of  the  affair  is  that  my  fiacre  ran  into 
his.     However,  we  met  like  that.     It  turned 


176       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

out  that  we  were  both  in  a  hurry  to  catch  the 
Lyons  express,  and  we  both  missed  it.  So  we 
agreed  to  stay  in  Paris  for  another  day,  and  to 
spend  the  time  together.  We  got  on  fa- 
mously. Of  course,  Forrest  was,  relatively, 
much  older  than  me  then  than  he  is  now;  I 
believe  I  was  only  nineteen.  It  was  my  first 
journey  on  the  Continent — one  Long  Vaca- 
tion." 

"What  a  strange  coincidence!"  Sylviane 
murmured. 

"Where  was  the  coincidence?"  asked  Peter- 
son. 

"That — that  you  should  both  be  trying  to 
catch  the  same  train." 

"Do  you  call  that  strange?"  said  Peterson; 
and  his  eyes  said:  "What  a  delightful,  sim- 
ple little  thing  you  are!" 

"And  then,  I  suppose,  you  began  to  see  a 
good  deal  of  each  other?"  Sylviane  continued 
her  catechism. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  travelled  together  a 
good  deal  in  various  parts  of  Europe  after- 
wards, he  seeing  old  pictures,  I  seeing  old 
buildings.  It  was  in  Cadiz  that  we  had  the 
adventure  of  my  career,  at  the  opera  there — 
a  wretched   enough   opera-house   it  is,   too; 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     177 

'Carmen'  was  the  opera — I  remember  the 
whole  thing  perfectly.  Afterwards  we  went 
together  for  a  stroll  on  the  Alameda.     And 

there  something  happened But  Arthur 

made  me  swear  never  to  mention  it  to  any 


one." 


''You  may  tell  me." 

"I  think  I  may.  It  was  only  that  he  saved 
my  life;  don't  ask  me  the  details.  The  afifair 
was  one  common  enough  in  Cadiz." 

"I  felt  sure  that  either  you  or  he  had  saved 
the  other's  life.  There  is  something  in  your 
attitude  towards  each  other  I  cannot  ex- 
plain  " 

"You  are  right,"  said  Peterson,  eyeing  the 
woman  with  adoration. 

Arthur  Forrest  had  finished  the  Toreador 
song,  and  begun  the  dance  from  the  first  act. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  Peterson,  glancing 
at  his  friend,  "he  looks  as  if  he  had  never  had 
a  day's  illness  in  his  life.     Was  he  very  ill?" 

Sylviane  leaned  back  in  the  chair,  and  cov- 
ered her  face  for  a  moment  with  one  hand. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  she  said — and  her  voice 
was  charged  with  feeling — "what  I  have  said 
neither  to  him  nor  to  any  one  else — I  never 
expected  him  to  get  better;  it  was  a  miracle. 


178       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

You  see  him  now  well  and  strong,  and  take 
his  recovery  for  granted.  To  me  it  is  a 
miracle — even  now  I  can  scarcely  believe  it — 
I  had  absolutely  abandoned  hope;  I  was  ready 
to  throw  myself  down  and  die  by  his  side." 

Peterson  felt  the  tears  coming  into  his  eyes, 
and  he  coughed. 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  so  bad,"  he  said ;  "you 
must  have  nursed  him  superbly;  and  Arthur 
says  that  Dr.  Colpus  is  something  rather  spe- 
cial." 

The  girl  shuddered, 

"Dr.  Colpus,"  she  murmured;  "Dr.  Colpus 
saved  my  husband  by  pure  force  of  will;  he 
scarcely  left  his  bedside  for  thirty-six  hours  1" 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  I  called  at  the 
hotel  at  Folkestone  every  day  to  inquire  after 
Forrest — every  day  for  a  fortnight,  that  is.  I 
was  obliged  to  clear  out  of  Folkestone  at  the 
end  of  a  fortnight,  as  I  had  come  to  the  end  of 
my  money." 

"Did  you,  really?"  Sylviane  replied;  "I  had 
no  idea — no  one  told  me." 

"Well,  perhaps  every  one  was  too  busy." 

"I'm  glad  to  think  you  called  like  that  every 
day,"  she  said. 

"Are  you?     How  nice  of  you!" 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     179 

Both  were  silent;  Peterson  averted  his  face. 
As  for  Sylviane,  she  gave  her  host  a  long  look, 
in  which  were  strangely  mingled  compassion 
and  troubled  curiosity.  Then  Arthur  re- 
turned from  his  excursion  to  the  piano. 

"My  young  friend,"  said  the  latter  gaily, 
"we  are  quite  private.  How  much  are  you 
worth?     I  should  really  like  to  know." 

"Would  you?"  said  Peterson,  "if  I  tell  you, 
you  won't  think  I'm  boasting?" 

"I  promise." 

"Well,  I'm  worth  a  little  over  three  mil- 
lions." 

Sylviane  was  looking  into  the  fire,  and  did 
not  move  her  head. 

"Ah!"  said  Arthur  Forrest,  calmly,  "well, 
I  must  say  that  this  house  doesn't  do  much 
credit  to  a  person  of  your  means — shall  we  say 
'ample  means'?  Excuse  my  frankness,  but 
you  and  I  were  always  rude  to  each  other." 

"It  doesn't,"  Peterson  agreed;  "nor  do  I 
take  the  slightest  pride  in  it." 

"But  surely  it  is  your  old  home,"  inter- 
rupted Sylviane,  quickly. 

"Yes,  in  a  way  it  is;  but  I  was  always  at 
school  or  at  Oxford,  you  know.  And  when  at 
the  age  of  twenty-one,  after  the  'Varsity,  I 


i8o       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

declined  to  be  a  colliery  master,  and  insisted 
on  being  an  architect,  my  respected  father  in- 
formed me  that  I  could  go;  so  I  went.  Rad- 
way  Grange  was  no  home  to  me;  you  see,  my 
mother  died  when  I  was  quite  tiny.  To  me 
the  place  was  always  ugly  and  cheerless — my 
father  never  attempted  to  make  it  otherwise. 
He  and  I  had  quarrelled,  and  though  he  al- 
lowed me  a  few  hundreds  a  year,  I  had  no 
idea  whether  or  not  he  would  leave  me  the 
whole  or  any  part  of  his  fortune.  I  didn't 
even  know  he  was  a  millionaire;  he  was  a  pe- 
culiar man — I  speak  of  him  quite  without 
prejudice." 

Peterson's  tone  had  perceptibly  hardened; 
there  was  a  pause. 

"The  park  is  fairly  large,  isn't  it?"  said 
Arthur  Forrest  at  length. 

"The  park  is  magnificent,"  Peterson  agreed 
enthusiastically,  "and  I  shall  not  leave  it. 
To-morrow  you  must  inspect  its  beauties." 

"Then  you  will  stay  here,  after  all,  in  this 
abode  so  ugly  and  cheerless,"  Arthur  smiled. 

"By  no  means;  I  am  building  a  new  house 
on  the  hill  just  behind." 

"What,  already?  But  you  have  only  been 
here  a  couple  of  months!" 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     i8i 

"I  needn't  explain  to  you,  my  dear  Arthur," 
said  Peterson,  "that  architecture  is  my  pas- 
sion— architecture  and  horses,  that  is.  Two 
years  ago,  when  the  lawyer  read  to  me  my  fa- 
ther's will,  I  instantly  determined  what  I 
should  do.  I  would  not  leave  Radway;  I 
would  not  live  in  this  wretched  house — I 
would  build  a  new  one  in  the  position  which 
ought  to  have  been  originally  chosen.  I  have 
been  at  work  on  the  plans  ever  since.  It  will 
be  superb ;  it  will  be  the  finest  private  mansion 
in  Staffordshire,  and  that  is  saying  a  good 
deal.  Immediately  I  came  into  possession 
here  I  began  operations;  a  hundred  men  are 
at  work  every  day.  The  foundations  are  laid ; 
in  parts  the  walls  are  at  the  first  story." 

"You  are  positively  a  magician,  Mr.  Peter- 
son," murmured  Sylviane,  stirred  from  her 
usual  apathy,  while  Arthur  Forrest  whistled  a 
high  note  of  surprise. 

"It  is  the  one  privilege  of  a  millionaire — to 
be  a  magician,"  said  Peterson. 

"We  must  see  this  wonderful  palace,"  Ar- 
thur Forrest  laughed. 

"Rather!  I  spend  whole  days  there.  Im- 
mediately after  breakfast  to-morrow,  eh?" 

"Agreed."     Forrest  walked  to  the  window, 


i82       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

and  drawing  aside  the  blind  looked  out. 
"What  a  perfect  nightl  The  moon  is  simply 
marvellous." 

"Look  here,"  said  Peterson,  struck  with  a 
sudden  idea,  "let's  wrap  up  and  go  out  on  to 
the  hill  to-night.  Would  you  care,  Mrs.  For- 
rest? It  isn't  far,  and  the  place  looks  splen- 
did at  night — sort  of  Coliseum  touch,  you 
know;  and  the  view  of  the  Five  Towns  in  the 
distance  beats  everything.  Pardon  my  en- 
thusiasm, but  will  you  come?" 

Forrest  looked  at  his  wife,  and  she  smiled 
a  consent. 

"We  will  humour  you,  Peterson,"  said  For- 
rest ;  "you  are  a  little  mad,  but  we  will  humour 
you." 

Arthur  Peterson  suddenly  scowled,  and 
then  straightened  his  features. 

"I  wish  to  goodness  you  wouldn't  regard 
me  as  a  madman,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said. 

"But  you  are,  you  know,"  laughed  Forrest. 

"It  will  be  quite  an  adventure,"  said  Syl- 
viane,  with  eagerness. 

Peterson  rang  the  bell  twice,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment a  servant  entered.  On  beholding  Ar- 
thur Forrest,  the  servant  bowed  respectfully. 


VAGARIES  OF  A  DOG-CART     183 

"Sims!"  said  Forrest,  astonished  and  some- 
what taken  aback. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  man,  discreetly  smiling; 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you  better,  sir." 

At  the  sound  of  that  quiet  and  sinister  voice, 
Sylviane  looked  up  quickly;  a  sharp  sigh  es- 
caped her,  and  then,  ignoring  the  servant,  she 
turned  her  head  away  and  gazed  into  the  fire; 
her  face  had  paled.  Peterson  gave  some  nec- 
essary orders  about  wraps  and  lanterns,  and 
Sims  departed  again, 

"It  appears  that  you  know  my  new  man," 
said  Peterson;  "I  may  tell  you  he  is  a  jewel." 

"He  was  with  my  mother-in-law,"  Arthur 
Forrest  replied;  "I  did  not  know  he  had  left 
her."     Sylviane  said  nothing. 

"He  came  to  me  with  first-rate  references," 
said  Peterson,  "in  answer  to  an  advertisement 
of  mine,  and  I  am  entirely  satisfied  with  him; 
in  fact,  I  am  enchanted  with  the  fellow." 

Sims  presently  re-entered  the  drawing- 
room  with  overcoats  and  wraps. 

"By  the  way,  Sims,"  said  his  master,  "have 
they  told  you  of  the  accidents  this  afternoon?" 

"Yes,  sir;  very  curious  indeed.  I  happened 
to  be  in  the  stable-yard  this  morning  when 


1 84      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

they  were  washing  the  dog-cart,  and  it  struck 
me  what  a  well-made  cart  it  was." 

"You  didn't  happen  to  examine  the 
wheels?" 

"No,  sir,  I  didn't." 

"Are  the  lanterns  ready?" 

"They  are  at  the  conservatory-door,  sir." 

"Thanks,  that  will  do." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MR.   SIMS  SEES  THE  DOOR  LOCKED 

Peterson  and  the  two  Forrests  were  soon  at 
the  summit  of  the  hill  which  bore  the  first  be- 
ginnings of  the  superb  mansion  that  was  to  be. 
Each  of  the  men  carried  a  lantern,  but  the 
w^hite  illumination  of  the  moon,  flooding  earth 
and  sky  with  soft  radiance,  rendered  these  un- 
necessary. As  Peterson  had  predicted,  the 
rising  walls  of  the  new  house  had  just  the  ro- 
mantic appearance  of  some  immense  and  age- 
worn  ruin.  There  was  a  long  irregular  line 
of  wail,  with  gaps  for  windows  and  doors,  and 
cross  walls  here  and  there  breaking  away  from 
it  at  right  angles.  Huge  scaffolding,  sharply 
silhouetted  against  the  sky,  lifted  a  network 
tracery  above  everything.  In  one  place,  near 
the  centre  of  the  faqade,  the  scaffolding  rose 
considerably  higher  than  elsewhere. 

As  they  approached  the  huge  erection  all 

three  were  impressed  by  the  utter  silence,  the 

185 


1 86       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

spectral  and  perfect  stillness  which  enveloped 
the  spot. 

''It  is  as  if  the  place  had  been  abandoned," 
whispered  Sylviane. 

"Is  there  no  night  watchman?"  Arthur  For- 
rest asked. 

''No,"  answered  Peterson;  "why  should 
there  be?  My  own  land,  which  is  in  a  ring 
fence,  extends  for  half  a  mile  in  every  direc- 
tion." 

Involuntarily  Sylviane  stopped  when  they 
were  within  fifty  yards  of  the  building. 

"Come  along,"  said  Peterson. 

"It  is  very  uncanny,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  bit,"  he  replied,  "especially  if 
you  give  way  to  the  feeling.  But  you  must 
come  near  by,  and  see  the  blaze  and  smoke- 
trails  of  the  Five  Towns'  furnaces  seven  miles 
off;  that  is  a  sight  which  you  will  not  soon 
forget." 

They  walked  close  up  to  the  line  of  the  fa- 
qade,  and  the  tremendous  scale  of  the  archi- 
tecture stood  for  the  first  time  fully  revealed. 

"Why,  Peterson,"  exclaimed  Arthur  For- 
rest, "it  is  simply  prodigious!" 

"Yes,"  the  host  said  with  pride,  "I  expect 
it  looks  pretty  big  to  you.     I've  got  used  to  it." 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        187 

"And  you've  done  this  in  two  months?" 

"The  workmen  have.  Of  course,  it's  only 
just  commenced ;  this  is  nothing.  It  will  cost 
two  hundred  thousand,  and  another  hundred 
thousand  to  furnish." 

"Peterson,  you  are  a  man  of  large  ideas.  I 
congratulate  you." 

"Oh,  stuff!  You  see  that  scaffolding  there, 
towards  the  middle — that  is  the  beginning  of 
the  great  central  double  tower.  If  you  care 
we  will  get  up  to  the  top  of  the  scaffolding. 
It  is  worth  doing;  unless  we  climb  that  we 
can't  get  the  view  of  the  Five  Towns  without 
going  round  the  end  of  the  building  to  the 
back.     What  do  you  say,  Mrs.  Forrest?" 

"Is  it  up  ladders?"  she  inquired,  with  a 
woman's  timidity. 

"Oh,  no;  the  stairways  are  quite  practica- 
ble— I  had  them  made  so  for  the  sake  of  the 
workmen.  You  see,  this  is  not  a  contract 
job." 

"We  will  go,"  said  Arthur.  "Excelsior, 
Sylviane;  it  will  do  you  good!"  He  was  in 
the  brightest  spirits. 

Under  the  guidance  of  Peterson,  they  found 
themselves  presently  involved  in  a  medley  of 
poles  and  planks,  with  a  steep  stairway  in  front 


i88       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

of  them.  To  right  and  left  of  them  stretched 
long  vistas  of  bricks,  pale  in  the  moonlight. 

They  climbed  and  turned  corners,  and 
climbed  and  turned  corners;  and  at  length, 
with  quickened  breathing,  they  were  on  the 
topmost  stage  of  the  scaffolding,  forty  feet 
above  the  ground. 

"Look,"  said  Peterson,  stretching  forth  his 
hand. 

Far  away  in  the  distance  they  could  see  a 
rich  crimson  glare,  with  a  glowing  canopy  of 
smoke  stretched  above  it. 

"Those  are  the  chief  works  of  the  Peterson 
Collieries  and  Ironworks  Company  at  Turn- 
hill;  they  always  remind  me  of  a  huge  caul- 
dron served  by  Titans.  Better  than  fireworks, 
isn't  it?"  he  added. 

Forrest  and  his  wife  gave  no  answer;  they 
gazed  spellbound. 

Suddenly  Sylviane  glanced  backwards. 

"What  was  that?"  she  exclaimed. 

"What  was  what,  my  dear?" 

"I  thought  I  heard  some  one  behind  us, 
Arthur." 

"Don't  be  nervous,  Sylvie;  I  am  afraid  the 
moon  and  the  Peterson  furnaces  are  too  much 
for  you." 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        189 

For  answer  she  clung  to  him. 

"I  saw  some  one,"  she  whispered. 

''Nonsense  I" 

"I  saw  some  one,  and  I  heard  a  footstep." 

"Never  mind,  Sylvie;  let  us  assume  it  was 
a  ghost." 

This  brief  colloquy  was  spoken  too  low  to 
be  heard  by  Arthur  Peterson.  Forrest  tried 
to  reassure  his  wife.  Then  he  said  to  himself 
that  she  must  be  over-fatigued  with  the  jour- 
ney. But  despite  his  efforts  to  laugh  away  her 
alarms,  the  fear  in  Sylvie's  eyes  had  communi- 
cated itself  to  his  own  heart. 

"Come  over  here  now,  to  the  other  side," 
said  Peterson,  "and  you  will  see  the  lights  of 
Crewe  shunting  yard.  Don't  be  afraid;  there 
are  four  planks  together,  wide  enough  for  an 
army,  but  unfortunately  there  is  no  handrail. 
Follovv^  me;  it  is  absolutely  safe." 

He  pointed  to  a  sort  of  bridge,  perfectly 
plain  in  the  moonlight,  which  led  from  the 
staging  upon  which  they  stood  to  a  similar 
staging  on  the  other  side. 

"Come  along,"  he  repeated,  and  stepped 
forward  on  to  the  bridge.  One  of  the  planks 
yielded,  and  in  an  instant,  as  if  by  magic, 
Peterson  had  disappeared.     There  was  no  cry, 


I90       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

no  sound — except  Sylviane's  short,  suppressed 
shriek.  Husband  and  wife  listened  in  vain 
for  the  least  sign  of  life. 

He  was  gone,  extinguished.  One  moment 
he  stood  before  them,  plain  and  tangible  in  the 
moonlight;  the  next  he  had  become  invisible, 
inaudible;  it  was  as  though  some  sinister  and 
mysterious  hand  had  risen  out  of  the  void  and 
plucked  him  down. 

"The  plank  must  have  slipped  off  the  cross- 
beam," said  Forrest. 

Why  is  it  that  in  the  presence  of  sudden  dis- 
aster the  human  mind  invariably  takes  refuge 
in  the  banal,  the  obvious?  Here  was  an  im- 
mortal soul  snatched  strangely  away,  and  Ar- 
thur Forrest  must  needs  remark  that  the  plank 
had  slipped  off  the  cross-beam! 

"There  was  no  sound  of  a  fall,"  he  con- 
tinued, trying  to  assume  a  natural  inflection  of 
voice.     "Did  you  hear  anything,  Sylvie?" 

Sylviane  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"He  is  killed!"  she  cried. 

Arthur  got  on  his  knees  and  peered  down 
into  the  gulf,  but  all  was  blackness  there;  he 
could  see  nothing.  The  lanterns  had  been  left 
below. 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        191 

"Peterson  1"  he  called;  the  cry  echoed 
weirdly — no  answer. 

"I  tell  you  he  is  killed." 

"Let  us  go  down,"  said  Arthur;  "take  my 
hand." 

He  could  not  even  try  to  reassure  her,  now. 
He  called  himself  fatuous  for  having  tried  to 
reassure  her  before.  Are  not  the  divinations, 
the  presciences,  of  women,  subtle  and  surer 
than  those  of  men?  Has  it  not  always  been 
so,  and  will  it  not  always  be  so?  Yet  men  per- 
sist in  the  pretence  that  women  are  creatures 
of  causeless  alarms  and  absurd  trepidations. 

He  sought  to  guess  what  it  was,  or  who  it 
was,  that  Sylviane  had  seen  and  heard;  but  he 
could  find  no  answer  to  that  riddle.  His 
wife  hesitated  to  move — if  one  plank  yielded, 
why  should  not  another  yield? 

"Come  along,"  he  said  imperiously,  almost 
brutally. 

"Is  it  safe?"  she  tremblingly  murmured. 

"Have  no  fear,"  he  said,  with  masculine 
certainty. 

And  they  crept  down  the  rough  stairways, 
slowly,  cautiously,  alternating  between  spaces 
of  bright  moonlight  and  spaces  of  deep  black- 


192       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

ness.  As  they  reached  the  lower  stage  of  the 
scaffolding  a  half-smothered  voice  shouted: 
*'A11  right — it's  all  right;"  and  a  figure  ap- 
proached them.     It  was  Peterson  himself. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said,  talking  loudly  from 
excitement;  "I  hope  you  weren't  alarmed.  I 
fell  into  a  heap  of  sand  which  had  been 
dumped  down  only  this  afternoon  for  the  mor- 
tar mill.  I  was  a  bit  choked  and  stunned  at 
first,  but  I'm  quite  unhurt.  It  was  a  longish 
drop,  though,  forty  feet!  Great  Scott  I  If 
that  sand  hadn't  been  there,  every  bone  in  my 
body  would  have  been  broken.  Look  here,  if 
you  don't  mind,  we'll  go  back  to  the  house  and 
have  a  brandy  and  soda  apiece." 

As  Peterson  emerged  from  the  shadow  it 
could  be  seen  that  he  had  lost  his  hat;  his  hair 
was  tousled,  and  the  disarray  of  his  clothes  was 
plainly  apparent  even  in  the  moonlight. 

Forrest  felt  the  weight  of  Sylviane's  body 
against  his  side.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
swooning. 

"Steady,  dear  girl,"  he  encouraged  her,  and 
with  an  obedient  effort  she  recovered  herself. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Forrest,"  said 
Peterson,  coming  still  nearer.    "I'm  as  right 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        193 

as  a  trivet,  though  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  a  bit 
stiff  to-morrow." 

"I'm  awfully  glad  you  aren't  hurt,"  said 
Arthur  Forrest.  "But  you  must  certainly  set 
this  down  as  a  day  of  miracles,  Peterson." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Peterson;  and,  picking 
up  their  lanterns,  they  walked  to  the  house 
with  scarcely  another  word;  none  could  find 
anything  to  say. 

Then  a  loud  sigh,  like  the  sighing  of  a  levi- 
athan— regular,  stertorous,  and  horrid — was 
borne  to  them  on  the  still  night  air.  Syl- 
viane's  arm  fluttered  in  Forrest's,  and  he 
clutched  it  tighter. 

"What  is  that  infernal  noise?"  he  asked 
Peterson. 

"That — oh!  it's  only  one  of  my  blast-fur- 
naces, one  of  the  Peterson  Company's  blast- 
furnaces, that  is  to  say,  between  here  and 
Turnhill;  it's  four  or  five  miles  ofif.  If  you 
heard  it  close  to,  you  would  think  it  was  some- 
thing to  take  notice  of."  The  youth  laughed 
loudly  again,  for  he  was  still  under  the  influ- 
ence of  strong  excitement.  Now  a  blast-fur- 
nace is  the  most  ordinary  affair  in  the  world 
— in  the  Midlands.     Yet,  to  Arthur  Forrest, 


194      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

who  was  no  feeble  victim  of  imaginative  ter- 
rors, that  blast-furnace  seemed  to  be  transmit- 
ting the  dark  messages  of  fate;  it  seemed  as 
if  it  were  a  chorus  to  the  accidents  of  the  day. 

As  they  passed  through  the  conservatory 
the  master  of  the  house  shouted  out:  "Sims, 
where  is  Sims?  I  want  my  clothes  brushed; 
and  tell  some  one  to  bring  brandy  and  soda 
into  the  drawing-room  at  once." 

"I  am  here,  sir,"  answered  Sims,  entering 
the  conservatory  behind  them  from  the  gar- 
den. Arthur  Forrest  flashed  his  lantern  upon 
the  man's  face.  It  wore  an  impassive,  respect- 
ful smile — a  guileless  smile — the  smile  of  a 
man  who,  knowing  his  own  worth  and  recog- 
nising the  worth  of  others,  is  at  peace  with  the 
world. 

That  night  Forrest,  having  stayed  up  rather 
late  talking  with  Peterson,  sat  finishing  a  ciga- 
rette in  the  dressing-room  which  adjoined 
the  Forrests'  bedroom.  The  whole  house  was 
silent,  except  for  those  vague,  inexplicable 
sounds  which  only  make  themselves  heard  in 
the  darkness.  He  put  the  end  of  the  cigarette 
into  an  ash-tray,  and,  going  towards  the  win- 
dow, looked  out.  The  moon  was  sinking  over 
the  hill,  and  her  light  shone  through  the  scaf- 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        195 

folding  of  the  new  mansion,  which  stood 
quaint  and  bare,  like  a  black  skeleton  in  that 
luminous  flood. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  noise  within  the  room. 

''Arthur  I" 

A  pale  figure  crouched  at  his  feet;  it  was 
Sylviane  in  her  night-dress.  Trembling  and 
shaken  with  sobs,  her  hair  loose,  her  eyes 
misty  with  tears,  she  bent  before  him,  the 
image  of  despair  and  tribulation. 

"My  dear  Sylvie,  are  you  ill?"  He  picked 
her  up  and  put  her  on  a  chair.  "What  is  it — 
a  bad  dream?" 

"Would  to  God  it  were!"  she  answered, 
clutching  his  hand  and  then  dropping  it  as 
though  it  burnt  her.  "Arthur,  they  are  try- 
ing to  kill  him!" 

"Who  is  trying  to  kill — kill  whom?" 

"Mr.  Peterson.     I  know  it." 

*'My  dear  Sylvie,  what  are  you  talking 
about?" 

He  said  to  himself  that  his  wife's  manner 
had  been  strange  and  curious  since  they  went 
into  the  drawing-room  after  dinner. 

''Sims  is  here,"  she  insisted  with  a  terrible 
emphasis.  "Immediately  I  saw  Sims  in  the 
drawing-room    I    knew   that   something   was 


196       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

afoot."  She  ceased  sobbing,  and  murmured 
inarticulately. 

"Come,"  he  said,  soothing  her;  "if  you  cry, 
I  can't  tell  a  word  you  say.  What  is  all  this 
about  Sims?" 

"It  is  a  plot,"  she  said.  "Can't  you  see? 
The  breaking  of  the  trace,  the  wheel  coming 
ofif,  and  then  that  loose  plank  to-night;  it  is  a 
miracle  Mr.  Peterson  isn't  dead.  But  they 
will  do  it  yet;  nothing  will  stop  them.  You 
don't  know  them,  Arthur." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"Dr.  Colpus— and " 

"Dr.  Colpus?" 

"Yes,  and — O  Arthur— my  mother!" 

"Sylviane!" 

"Yes,  my  mother.  They  have  sent  Sims 
down  here — he  is  working  for  them;  I  am 
convinced  of  it.  When  we  were  on  the  top 
of  the  scaffolding  I  saw  some  one — it  must 
have  been  Sims." 

"But,  Sylvie,  why  should  Dr.  Colpus  and 
you  mother  wish  to  kill  Peterson?"  His 
intention  was  to  humour  her.  He  thought  her 
mind  was  wandering,  that  Peterson's  narrow 
escape  had  affected  her  brain. 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  seemed  to  be 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        197 

gathering  herself  together  for  a  great  efifort. 

"Listen,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "I  must  tell  you 
everything — I  should  have  told  you  long  ago, 
but  I  daren't;  I  was  so  afraid  of  mamma.  It 
was  all  a  plot  from  the  beginning.  Before  we 
met  you,  mamma  and  Dr.  Colpus  knew  that 
you  were  entitled  to  the  Peterson  fortune;  that 
was  why  we  met  you.  I  had  orders  to  marry 
you.  You  can  guess  the  rest  of  the  plot;  you 
know  it,  in  fact.  The  marriage  being  accom- 
plished, Dr.  Colpus  was  to  pretend  that  he  had 
only  just  found  out  your  connection  with  the 
Petersons." 

The  idea  that  his  wife's  mind  was  wander- 
ing vanished  in  a  moment;  he  knew  some- 
how that  she  was  speaking  the  cold  and  bitter 
truth.  A  thousand  trifles  came  back  to  him 
out  of  the  past — trifles  hitherto  ignored  or  dis- 
dained; and  these  trifles  confirmed  the  tre- 
mendous indictment  against  her  mother  and 
Dr.  Colpus  which  Sylvie  had  outlined  in  those 
few  pregnant  and  breathless  sentences. 

His  brain  reeled  under  the  intoxication  of 
dreadful  thoughts. 

"Sylvie!"  he  cried,  standing  up,  "did  you 
marry  me  because  you  thought  I  was  going  to 
be  a  millionaire?" 


198       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

She  hid  her  beautiful  face  in  her  hands. 
"No,  before  God  I  didn't  1"  she  answered  in 
a  whisper;  "I  loved  you — I  do  love  you, 
Arthurl     Don't  you  believe  me?" 

"I  believe  you,"  he  said,  without  moving; 
"go  on,  Sylviane." 

"What  put  them  out  was  your  refusal  of  the 
fortune,  and  the  fact  that  you  knew  all  about 
it  before.  They  hadn't  calculated  on  that; 
they  had  to  begin  again.  O  Arthur,  I  over- 
heard them  talking  that  night  you  were  so 
very  ill;  I  had  the  most  frightful  suspicion, 
and  so  I  crept  to  the  door  of  the  drawing-room 
that  night  when  your  influenza  took  a  turn  for 
the  worse,  and  I  heard  what  Dr.  Colpus  and 
mamma  said  to  each  other.  Mamma — 
mamma I  can't  tell  you." 

"You  must  tell  me,  Sylviane." 

"She — she  wanted  you  to  die,  Arthur! 
She  opened  the  bedroom  window  so  that  you 
might — so  that  you  wouldn't  get  better, 
Arthur.  I  found  it  just  a  little  open  after 
she  had  left  the  room;  she  had  not  closed  it 
properly.  I  would  have  given  worlds  to  ac- 
cuse her,  but  I  daren't — I  daren't.  I  was 
always  afraid  of  her." 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED        199 

"Why  did  your  mother  wish  me  to  die?" 
he  asked,  coldly. 

"She  thought  when  you  were  dead  the 
fortune  could  be  claimed  on  my  behalf — that 
was  what  I  overheard;  but  Dr.  Colpus  said  it 
would  be  difficult,  and  that  you  must  be  saved 
at  all  costs.  Then  I  heard  him  say  to  her  that 
the  other  Arthur  was  more  in  the  way.  They 
think  that  if  Mr.  Peterson  was  dead  you  would 
be  sure  to  accept  the  fortune." 

"It  can't  be  true  I"  Forrest  exclaimed;  "it  is 
incredible."  A  thrill  of  amazement  and  un- 
speakable wrath  shook  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"It  is  true,"  she  said;  "and  that  is  why 
Sims  is\  here  now.  Sims  is  invaluable.  Sims 
may  be  relied  on  to  do  what  he  is  told." 

Forest  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  stopping  at  length  before  his 
wife,  "it  is  true;  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  have 
always  known  that  your  mother  was  an  ad- 
venturess.    But  I  thought  only  of  you." 

"Arthur,  I  will  leave  you  to-morrow;  it  is 
the  least  I  can  do.     Let  us  say  good-bye  nowl" 

She,  too,  stood  up,  and  for  a  moment 
fronted  him.  Her  marvellous  face,  sur- 
rounded by  the  loose  coils  of  her  hair,  was  a 


200      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

sublime  appeal  to  his  mercy.  The  pathos  of 
her  position  brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes,  and 
made  him  forget  the  perils  through  which  he 
himself  had  passed,  and  those  by  which 
Arthur  Peterson  was  still  surrounded. 

"I  will  leave  you  to-morrow!"  she  repeated 
more  firmly.  Her  eyes  wavered  as  they  met 
his. 

"Leave  me?"  he  cried. 

"Yes;  I  must.  I  tell  you  it  is  the  least  I 
can  do — my  mother's  blood  runs  in  my  veins. 
Did  I  not  at  the  beginning  consent  to  the  plot? 
Oh,  yes,  yes!  I  am  only  fit  for  hell!  I  am 
unworthy  that  you  should  ever  look  at  me 
again.  But  let  me  swear  to  you  first,  Arthur, 
that  I  did  not  know  they  meant  murder — I 
only  knew  you  were  going  to  be  rich,  very 
rich.  If  I  had  not  happened  to  fall  in  love 
with  you,  my  husband,  I  should  have  married 
you  without  a  scruple.  And  when  I  found 
that  I  loved  you,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  must 
not  marry  you,  that  it  would  not  be  fair  to 
you.  But  my  love  for  you  tempted  me,  and 
the  temptation  was  too  strong  for  poor  little 
me — and  mamma  was  so  awful.  And  I  did 
so  want  to  be  your  wife,  Arthur.     I  promised 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED       201 

myself  that  after  we  were  married  I  would  tell 
you;  but  even  then  I  dared  not — I  was  afraid 
lest  you  would  despise  me  and  send  me  back 
to  mamma.  And  now,  now  that  I  have  seen 
you  nearly  murdered,  and  Mr.  Peterson  nearly 
murdered,  I  cannot  keep  silence  any  longer. 
Arthur,  you  must  try  to  forgive  me;  and  if 
you  can't  forgive,  forget.     I  shall  go  away,  far 

from  you,  and  far,  far  from  my  mother 

No  I  I  will  not  ask  you  for  a  kiss  before  I 
leave  you." 

"Leave  me?"  he  repeated;  "you  say  you 
have  seen  me  nearly  murdered,  do  you  wish  to 
murder  me  yourself?" 

"Arthur!"  she  cried. 

"Then  don't  say  another  syllable  about 
leaving  me!" 

She  sank  at  his  feet. 

"Poor  victim!"  he  involuntarily  exclaimed. 
Without  another  word  he  lifted  her  in  his 
arms,  and  carried  her  to  the  bedroom;  she 
closed  her  eyes  as  if  in  exhaustion,  he  waited 
by  the  bedside  till  she  should  open  them. 

"Sylvie,"  he  breathed  softly,  "I  trust  you  as 
I  trust  myself;  you  will  never  leave  me!" 

She  smiled  with  a  relief  exquisitely  sad. 


202       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"In  all  my  idle  life,"  she  murmured,  "I  have 
done  nothing  to  deserve  your  love  and  your 
goodness." 

"Angel!"  he  replied,  "it  is  sufficient  that 
you  exist.  The  lilies  toil  not,  neither  do  they 
spin.  And  now  you  must  sleep;  you  aren't 
afraid,  are  you?" 

"Not  now,"  she  sighed. 

He  turned  away,  profoundly  moved. 

"Arthur,"  she  whispered. 

"Dearest,  what  is  it?"  he  gazed  at  her 
again. 

"Mr.  Peterson,"  she  murmured,  "you  will 
save  him?" 

"Rest  in  peace,  my  love,"  he  said;  and  she 
thanked  him  for  the  reassurance  with  a  look. 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  discreet  knock 
at  the  dressing-room  door;  they  both  started. 

"Who  is  there?"  said  Forrest,  loudly. 

"I,  sir." 

"Wait  a  moment,  then." 

Forrest  passed  a  hand  gently  over  his  wife's 
forehead.  Then  going  into  the  dressing- 
room,  he  locked  the  door  between  the  bedroom 
and  the  dressing-room,  and  opened  the  outer 
door. 


THE  DOOR  UNLOCKED       203 

"Come  in,"  he  said,  and  a  man  entered. 

"Oh,  Sims,"  said  Forrest,  "is  that  you? 
Up  late,  aren't  you?"  With  a  quick  motion 
he  locked  the  outer  door  also. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MR.  SIMS  MEETS  WITH  A  REVOLVER 

It  was  not  without  a  little  sign  of  astonish- 
ment that  the  imperturbable  Sims  saw  Arthur 
Forrest  lock  the  door  of  the  dressing-room. 

"Mr.  Peterson's  compliments,  sir,"  he  said 
quietly,  "and  he  forgot  to  tell  you  that  he  was 
going  out  early  to-morrow  morning,  and  hopes 
you  won't  wait  breakfast  for  him  if  he  should 
happen  to  be  late." 

"Oh!"  said  Arthur  Forrest,  as  he  put  his 
right  hand  into  a  brown  bag  which  lay  open  on 
a  table;  "so  your  master  is  starting  out  early 
to-morrow.  He  said  nothing  to  me,  and  I 
only  left  him  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago." 

"No,  sir;  he  forgot." 

"He  is  in  bed  now?" 

"Yes,  sir.'^ 

"Is  he  shooting  to-morrow  morning?" 

"No,  sir;  I — I  think  it's  on  some  business 
connected  with  the  new  house  that  he's  going 


out." 


204 


MR.  SIMS  MEETS  A  REVOLVER     205 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Forrest,  with  as  much  of 
the  magisterial  manner  as  he  could  command, 
but  without  looking  at  Sims.  "By  the  way, 
Sims,  Mr.  Peterson  seemed  surprised  when  I 
happened  to  remark  this  evening  that  you  had 
previously  been  in  the  employ  of  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi." 

"Did  he,  sir?" 

"He  did.  Does  not  that  strike  you  as 
curious?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  catch  your  drift,  sir." 

"My  drift  should  be  fairly  plain  to  a  person 
of  your  acute  intelligence,  Sims.  If  your  ex- 
cellent references,  of  which  Mr.  Peterson 
made  special  mention  in  our  conversation, 
were  not  forged,  surely  they  should  have  borne 
the  name  of  your  previous  employer?" 

"The  inference  does  not  follow,  sir.  My 
reference  bore  the  name  of  my  last  employer 
but  one." 

"How  was  that?" 

"Well,  sir,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  differ  from  Mrs.  Cavalossi — 
Mrs.  Colpus  as  she  now  is — on  an  important 
point.  Not  to  mince  matters,  sir,  we  quar- 
relled. The  influence  of  Dr.  Colpus,  sir,  I'm 
afraid;  and  Mrs.  Colpus  declined  to  give  me 


2o6      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

a  character  of  any  sort.  She's  a  rather  fear- 
some lady,  sir,  when  she's  roused."  The 
gentle  forgiveness  in  Sims's  tone  was  wholly 
delightful. 

''Very  ingenious,  Sims  I"  said  Forrest,  who 
was  by  no  means  prepared  to  swallow  this 
specious  explanation.  It  did  not  require 
much  shrewdness  to  guess  that  if  the  Colpuses 
and  Sims  had  quarreled  they  had  carefully  re- 
hearsed the  quarrel  beforehand. 

"In  these  days,  sir,"  Sims  pursued,  "it's 
difficult  to  get  a  good  place,  and  so  you  see  I 
was  obliged  to  draw  a  veil  over  my  four  years' 
service  under  Mrs.  Colpus.  One  must  live, 
sir;  and  there  was  no  harm  done  by  a  little 
innocent  deception.  I  am  glad  to  think  that 
Mr.  Peterson  is  well  satisfied  with  my  efforts 
to  suit  him." 

"You  think  he  is  satisfied?" 

"He  has  been  good  enough  to  tell  me  as 
much,  sir." 

"And  I  understand  that  his  message  is  that 
he  is  going  out  early  to-morrow  morning,  and 
we  are  not  to  wait  breakfast  for  him?" 

"Those  were  his  words,  sir." 

"Indeed!"  Forrest  looked  up  at  Mr.  Sims 
for  the  first  time.     "I  suppose,  Sims,"  he  said 


MR.  SLMS  MEETS  A  REVOLVER     207 

slowly,  "that  this  message  doesn't  happen  to 
be  an  invention  of  yours?" 

"I  fail  to  grasp  your  meaning,  sir." 

"Well,  suppose,  for  instance,  that  you  in- 
tended to  get  rid  of  your  master  during  the 
night,  and  wanted  to  arrange  that  the  discov- 
ery of  his  disappearance  should  occur  as  late 
as  possible  to-morrow." 

"Sirl" 

"You  heard  what  I  said,  my  friend." 

"Get  rid  of  my  master?" 

"Yes;  or,  if  you  prefer  the  phrase,  murder 
him,  annihilate  him — of  course  by  accident, 
pure  accident." 

"Really,  Mr.  Forrest,  I  must  protest 

I — I  trust  it  isn't  the  brandy " 

"Sims,  it's  all  up.  I  know  the  whole 
scheme  hatched  between  you  and  the  Col- 
puses;  and  so  you  may  as  well  accept  your 
defeat  quietly." 

For  once  in  his  life,  Sims  was  astounded 
out  of  his  presence  of  mind,  and  he  made  a 
false  move — he  rushed  for  the  door. 

"Stop!"  cried  Forrest,  and  with  the  word 
he  took  out  of  the  bag  a  loaded  revolver.  "It 
is  a  habit  of  mine  always  to  carry  this,"  he 
said. 


2o8       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

Sims  stopped. 

"Sit  down,  Sims;  I  want  to  have  a  chat." 

Instead  of  sitting  down,  Sims  edged  towards 
the  door. 

"Sit  down,  Sims,"  Forrest  repeated  softly. 
"As  for  the  door,  it's  locked."  He  lifted  the 
revolver  in  the  direction  of  Sims's  forehead. 

"You'll  never  dare  to  use  it,"  said  Sims, 
who  was  now  himself  again. 

"Won't  I!"  Forrest  replied;  "I  should  ad- 
vise you  not  to  trespass  too  far  on  my  good 
nature.  For  the  third  time  I  request  you  to 
sit  down — take  that  chair  over  there." 

Sims  obeyed. 

"Now  we  can  proceed,"  said  Arthur  For- 
rest; and  he  too  sat  down,  with  the  revolver 
on  his  knees.  "We  won't  talk  loud,  because 
my  wife  is  trying  to  go  to  sleep  in  the  next 
room." 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,  sir,"  Sims  put  in, 
"that  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  all  this 
extraordinary  fuss  is  about.  I  merely  came 
here  with  a  message  from  my  master " 

"Listen  to  me,  Sims,  and  listen  carefully. 
I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  that  you  are  an 
unrelieved   scoundrel;    but   sometimes    it    is 


MR.  SIMS  MEETS  A  REVOLVER    209 

necessary  for  honest  men  to  make  use  of 
scoundrels,  and  with  your  permission  I  pro- 
pose to  make  use  of  you.  I  know,  beyond  any 
sort  of  doubt,  that  there  is  a  plot  against  the 
life  of  Mr.  Peterson,  and  that  you  are  the  most 
active  agent  in  that  plot.  I  can  prove  what  I 
say,  and  a  great  deal  more.  Now,  I  will 
make  you  an  offer.  If  you  will  tell  me  all 
that  you  know — all,  mind  you — and  under- 
take to  leave  the  country  instantly — I  will  let 
you  go.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  are  ob- 
stinate, I  shall  merely  keep  you  here  and  send 
for  the  police." 

"You  had  better  send  for  them,  then,"  said 
Sims,  with  the  air  of  a  martyr,  "for  I  can't 
possibly  tell  you  the  details  of  a  plot  of  which 
I  know  nothing." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Sims."  Forrest  had  made 
at  least  one  bold  invention  in  his  last  speech, 
and  he  cast  about  now  for  another  one  of 
even  greater  force.  He  regretted  at  that 
moment  that  he  had  not  had  more  practice  in 
skilful  lying.  "I  saw  you  on  the  scaffolding 
to-night,  Sims,  and  my  wife  saw  you  too. 
To-morrow  Mr.  Peterson  will  be  told  every- 
thing.    Further,"  he  went  on,  "I  know  that 


210      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

you  had  been  meddling  with  the  wheel  of  the 
dogcart.  The  breaking  of  the  trace  may  or 
may  not  have  been  an  accident." 

Sims's  eyebrows  made  the  least  movement 
in  the  world,  and  then  there  was  a  pause. 

''How  do  I  know,  if  I  tell  you  anything, 
that  you'll  let  me  go?"  asked  Sims  sullenly. 

"You  don't  know,  Sims;  you'll  just  have 
to  trust  me.  I  might  break  my  word;  you 
can't  be  sure." 

Sims  looked  longingly  at  the  window. 

"Come,"  said  Forrest,  "will  you  be  free  or 
will  you  go  to  prison?" 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you?" 

Arthur  Forrest  gave  an  involuntary  sigh  of 
relief.  He  knew  now  that  Sylviane's  sus- 
picions were  well  founded. 

"I  will  ask  you  a  few  questions;  they  will 
be  blunt  and  to  the  point,  and  I  want  plain 
answers.  No  protestations,  no  shilly-shally- 
ing, no  nonsense.  First  question:  how  much 
were  you  to  receive  from  the  Colpuses  when 
Mr.  Peterson  was  dead?" 

"Sir,  I  really " 

"How  much?" 

"Ten  thousand  down " 

"Yes,  ten  thousand  down,  and ?" 


MR.  SIMS  MEETS  A  REVOLVER    211 

''And  twenty  thousand  afterwards." 

"Good.  Second  question:  Do  the  Colpuses 
know  that  your  attempts  to-day  have  failed?" 

"No." 

"When  will  they  know?" 

"About  8.30  to-morrow  morning,  as  near 
as  I  can  tell." 

"Supposing  that  Mr.  Peterson  shouldn't — 
er — die  suddenly  during  the  next  few  days; 
supposing,  in  fact,  that  you  found  yourself 
unable  to  do  what  you  came  here  to  do — 
what  would  be  the  next  move?  You  can 
assume  that  I  know  the  objects  of  this  conspir- 
acy." 

"Mrs.  Colpus  would  tell  Mr.  Peterson  that 
his  fortune  was  really  yours." 

"They  think  he  would  at  once  relinquish  it 
in  my  favour?" 

"Yes;  if  the  facts  were  proved  to  him — as 
they  would  be." 

"Why  haven't  they  tried  this  move  first?" 

"Because  it  isn't  certain;  he  might  refuse  to 
give  it  up,  and " 

"And  if  he  gave  it  up  I  might  refuse  to  take 
it  even  then.  That's  the  argument,  is  it? 
And  so  you  all  thought  it  simpler  to  get  Mr. 
Peterson  comfortably  out  of  the  way!     Now 


212      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

for  the  third  question:  Did  you  precious  plot- 
ters assume  that  if  Mr.  Peterson  was  dead,  my 
objections  to  accepting  the  fortune  would  be 
removed?" 

'Tes,  sir." 

"I  see;  thanks.  Fourth  question:  How 
long  have  you  known  Dr.  Colpus  and  Mrs. 
Cavalossi — I  mean  Mrs.  Colpus?" 

"Nearly  twenty  years." 

"Been  Mrs.  Cavalossi's  servant  all  that 
time?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  why  did  you  tell  me,  a  few  minutes 
ago,  that  you  had  only  been  in  her  employ 
during  the  last  four  years?" 

"A  slip  of  the  tongue,  sir." 

"Nevertheless,  you  referred  to  people  who 
had  employed  you  before  Mrs.  Colpus.  Who 
were  they?" 

"Oh,  dear!  Mr.  Forrest!"  exclaimed  Sims, 
"you  are  worse  than  a  cross-examining  counsel 
at  the  Old  Bailey."  He  beamed  with  vague 
politeness.  "I  may  as  well  be  frank  with  you, 
sir.  I  have  never  had  any  other  employer 
than  Mrs.  Colpus." 

"Your  previous  statement  was  a  lie?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


MR.  SIMS  MEETS  A  REVOLVER    213 

"Then  you  are  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Col- 
pus's  affairs  pretty  intimately?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  man  smiled  for  a  fraction  of  a  second. 

"Let  me  see,"  continued  Arthur.  "Is  there 
anything  else?  Yes,  there  is.  Fifth  ques- 
tion: Supposing  that  I  did  accept  the  fortune, 
how  is  that  to  benefit  you  and  the  Colpuses? 
Mrs.  Colpus  is  my  mother-in-law,  and  she 
would  doubtless  like  to  have  me  a  millionaire; 
but  still,  she  would  be  entirely  dependent  on 
my  good  nature  as  regards  a  share  in  the  Peter- 
son millions.  Was  it  your  intention,  as  soon 
as  I  had  accepted  the  fortune,  to  send  me  after 
Mr.  Peterson?" 

"Do  you  really  expect  me  to  answer  that, 
sir?" 

"I  do ;  and  by  God  you  shall  I     Say  it,  man." 

The  reply  came  quietly  enough. 

"Yes,  that  was  the  intention,  sir.  You 
know  you  have  made  a  will  in  favour  of  your 
wife." 

"Ah,  my  wife!"  Arthur  murmured;  "Mrs. 
Colpus  doesn't  seem  to  have  much  regard  for 
her  daughter's  feelings,"  he  said  bitterly. 

"Her  daughter,"  said  Sims,  "ought  to  be 
getting  used  to  being  made  a  widow." 


214       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

Stung  with  a  sudden  thought,  Arthur 
sprang  up.     "What  does  that  mean?" 

Sims's  smile  was  hideous.  "While  I  am 
on  the  subject  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he 
said.  "Perhaps  you  forgot  that  Mr.  Drew 
died  the  day  after  his  marriage.  He  was 
worth  a  matter  of  thirty  thousand,  I  believe, 
and  that  proved  very  useful  to  Mrs.  Cava- 
lossi." 

For   a  moment  Arthur  could   not  speak. 

"And    was    Drew ?"     He    stopped;    he 

could  not  frame  the  suggestion. 

Sims  nodded  impassively. 

"Who  did  it?" 

"Colpus." 

"But  my  wife  had  no  suspicion?  No;  she 
couldn't  have  had." 

"She  had  no  suspicion." 

Arthur  sat  down  again.  He  was  conscious 
of  growing  pale.  The  idea  of  Sylviane  being 
thus  made  an  innocent  lure,  by  means  of  her 
beauty,  for  bringing  men  of  wealth  Into  the 
clutches  of  this  vile  trio,  completely  staggered 
him;  it  was  too  horrible.  The  infamy  of  it 
surpassed  anything  in  his  experience;  it 
stunned  his  senses. 

"Sims,"  he  said  at  length,  recovering  him- 


MR.  SLMS  MEETS  A  REVOLVER    215 

self,  "you  and  your  accomplices  or  employers 
are  the  most  damnable  villains  that  I  have 
ever  heard  of.  I  said  I  would  let  you  go,  and 
I  will.  Go  instantly;  I  will  see  you  off  the 
premises.  You  shall  have  twelve  hours^ 
start."  He  rose,  the  revolver  still  in  his  hand. 
"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Sims. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CONNUBIAL 

Meanwhile  scenes  not  without  interest  were 
passing  in  London.  On  the  same  night  that 
Arthur  Peterson  fell  forty  feet  into  a  hillock 
of  sand,  Dr.  Colpus  and  the  desire  of  his  eyes 
sat  together  in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms  of  the 
Hotel  Cecil.  They  sat  together  in  a  corner, 
as  far  as  possible  from  the  lordly  portal  of  the 
apartment;  it  was  as  though  they  wished  to 
extinguish  themselves  amid  the  rich  hangings 
and  furniture  of  that  gold-and-green  chamber. 
The  night  was  advanced  into  morning — pre- 
cisely, it  was  a  quarter  to  two  A.M.  An  at- 
tendant entered  the  drawing-room  and  looked 
round  with  an  air  of  profound  injury;  for, 
although  in  large  hotels  it  is  a  rule  that  guests 
are  never  absolutely  sent  off  to  bed,  being  in 
theory  at  liberty  to  remain  up  from  the  dewy 
eve  of  the  Thames  Embankment  to  the  radiant 
morn  of  the  Strand,  there  is  nevertheless  a 

sort  of  tacit  understanding  that  the  public 

216 


CONNUBIAL  217 

rooms  are  to  be  abandoned  about  the  hour  of 
two  o'clock  at  latest.  Every  other  woman  in 
the  hotel  had  retired  long  ago,  save  only  a 
French  actress,  who  had  a  private  sitting-room 
and  a  team  of  mules  wherewith  to  advertise 
herself  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Cecil — hence 
the  lackey's  air  of  injury. 

"Beg  pardon,"  he  said,  ''I  came  to  turn 
lights  out.     I  thought " 

Dr.  Colpus  dismissed  him  with  an  abrupt 
gesture.  The  lackey's  words  had  been  de- 
cently civil,  but  his  manner  had  been  unmis- 
takably insolent.  No  human  being  is  more 
perfectly  human  than  a  footman  in  a  large 
hotel  devoted  to  the  service  of  wealth.  This 
footman  had  observed  the  financial  declension 
of  the  Doctor  and  his  wife — a  few  months  ago 
the  Doctor  and  his  wife  had  occupied  the  very 
sitting-room  now  used  by  the  French  actress 
who  drove  mules.  Force  of  circumstances 
had  compelled  them  to  relinquish  that  sitting- 
room,  for  it  is  a  fact  that  you  cannot  lounge  in 
a  private  sitting-room  at  the  Cecil  on  sixpence 
three-farthings  a  day.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Colpus 
had  somewhat  more  than  sixpence  three- 
farthings  a  day;  but  their  daily  income  was 
steadily  diminishing  to  that  figure;  therefore 


2i8      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

the  lackey,  beholding  their  gradual  fall,  had 
put  a  gradually  increasing  insolence  day  by 
day  into  his  demeanour  towards  them,  thus 
demonstrating  his  humanness. 

"Confounded  cheek!"  exclaimed  the  Doc- 
tor, when  the  footman  had  departed. 

"We  will  go  over  to  the  Savoy,"  said  Mrs. 
Colpus  pettishly. 

"Certainly,"  agreed  the  Doctor;  "after  we 
have  paid  our  bill  here!"     He  smiled. 

"You  need  not  be  witty  at  my  expense, 
Frank,"  said  the  wife,  with  the  gesture  of  a 
martyr. 

He  took  her  gallantly  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
thrice  that  marvellous  and  ageless  face. 
Without  doubt  the  Doctor  could  perform  to 
perfection  the  role  of  elderly  and  accom- 
plished beau. 

"Forgive  me!"  he  entreated;  "and  on  your 
birthday,  too!" 

Mrs.  Colpus  winced  and  closed  her  eyes 
for  an  instant. 

"Let  us  retire,"  she  said. 

It  was  her  thirty-fifth  birthday,  always  a 
dies  ireB  in  the  life  of  a  beautiful  woman. 
Mrs.  Colpus  had  a  passable  amount  of  phi- 
losophy in  her  composition,  but  one  is  obliged 


CONNUBIAL  219 

to  admit  that  she  had  not  got  through  that  day 
without  captiousness,  without  the  expression 
of  a  perhaps  pardonable  annoyance  at  her  in- 
ability to  emulate  Joshua's  feat  of  arresting  the 
sun.  Thirty-five  years!  In  five  more  she 
would  be  forty!  In  a  woman  whose  chief 
capital  is  her  beauty,  to  be  forty  is  a  crime 
against  society.  And  Mrs.  Colpus  felt  that 
on  that  day  five  years  hence  she  should  in  all 
probability  commit  a  dramatic  and  pictur- 
esque suicide  which  would  look  well  in  the 
papers. 

So  they  went  to  bed,  glum,  morose,  moody, 
and  preoccupied.  But  on  the  way  thither  Dr. 
Colpus  made  a  detour  to  the  bureau  and 
peered  at  the  telegram  pigeon-holes.  There 
was,  however,  no  orange  envelope  which  bore 
his  honoured  name. 

"Anything  come?"  inquired  his  wife  as  he 
rejoined  her  in  the  sleeping  chamber. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied  simply,  and  passed 
without  another  word  into  his  dressing-room. 
He  remained  there  a  considerable  time  buried 
in  contemplation  of  things  past,  things  pres- 
ent, and  things  to  come.  It  was  nearly  three 
o'clock  when  he  stretched  himself  on  one  of 
the  pair  of  gilded  couches  which  were  tlie 


220      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

pieces  de  resistance  of  the  bedroom.  The 
woman  who  had  achieved  thirty-five  years 
appeared  to  be  asleep.  Stretching  out  his 
hand  to  the  switch,  he  turned  oflp  the  light  at 
the  bed-head  and  slept  also. 

But  at  five  o'clock  he  was  awakened  by  a 
light  in  the  room.  His  beautiful  wife,  clad  in 
a  ravishing  dressing-down,  was  seated  at  the 
dressing-table  in  front  of  the  window.  As  her 
back  was  towards  him  he  could  not  see  what 
she  was  doing;  but  he  could  hear  the  rustle  of 
bank-notes  and  the  usually  agreeable  chinking 
of  golden  coins.  Now,  however,  the  chinking 
of  golden  coins  was  disagreeable,  for  it 
sounded  to  Dr.  Colpus  like  a  melancholy 
swan-song  of  wealth. 

"Aren't  you  cold,  my  dear?"  he  inquired 
calmly. 

She  made  no  answer.  The  rustle  and 
chinking  proceeded  for  a  space. 

Then  Mrs.  Colpus  murmured,  as  if  to  the 
surrounding  air:  'Tifty-four  pounds  ten." 

"And  our  bill  this  week  will  be  at  least 
sixty,"  the  Doctor  answered  evenly. 

"How  horrid  you  are  I"  said  the  woman. 
"I  was  so  anxious,  that  I  could  not  sleep,  and 
so  I  got  up  to  think,  and  to  see  exactly  what 


CONNUBIAL  221 

our  resources  were,  and — and  then  you  are 
horrid  I" 

'This  is  unworthy  of  you,  my  Marie;  in 
your  heart  you  know  that  I  am  not  liorrid; 
you  know  that  my  conduct  as  a  husband  has 
been  above  reproach.  But  the  fates  have  been 
unpropitious  towards  us,  and  since  you  have 
too  much  sense  to  be  angry  with  the  fates,  you 
vent  your  anger  on  me.  Have  I  not  begged 
you  almost  on  my  knees  for  months  past  to 
relinquish  this  hotel  life  and  all  its  luxuries, 
and  go  and  live  quietly  in  that  boarding-house 
I  told  you  of  in  Bloomsbury  Square?" 

"Boarding-house  in  Bloomsbury  Square!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Colpus,  turning  round  in  her 
chair;  "if  you  mention  that  again  I  shall  go 
mad.     I  should  die  in  Bloomsbury  Square." 

"Not  you!"  said  the  Doctor;  "a  far  severer 
climate  than  that  of  Bloomsbury  Square  will 
be  needed  to  kill  you,  my  love." 

"I  never  thought  that  we  should  be  all  these 
months  without  doing  anything  really  effec- 
tual. I  had  more  belief  in  your  powers, 
Frank." 

"Well,  my  pet,"  said  the  Doctor,  "I  have 
done  all  I  can — I  am  doing  all  I  can;  Sims  is 
doing  all  he  can ;  and  you  must  remember  that 


222      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

I  warned  you  in  the  summer  that  thirty  weeks 
would  not  be  too  much.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  thirty  weeks  have  not  yet  expired;  but  we 
have  been  so  extravagant  that " 

"It  isn't  extravagance,"  she  protested;  "it's 
only  what  I've  always  been  used  to,  and  what 
I  must  have.  I  can't  understand  how  it  is  we 
haven't  heard  from  Sims." 

"Doubtless  we  shall  hear  this  morning," 
said  the  Doctor,  "and  if  it  will  be  of  the  slight- 
est relief  to  you,  my  treasure,  I  will  tell  you, 
as  a  great  secret,  that  I  have  a  hundred-pound 
note  in  my  pocket-book,  so  that  we  are  not  yet 
at  starvation  point,  and  we  can  pay  our  bill  at 
the  week-end  in  triumph." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  said;  "you  left 
your  pocket-book  lying  about  the  evening  be- 
fore yesterday;  I  saw  that  note,  and  I  appro- 
priated it." 

"Marie  I"  he  gasped. 

"Yes;  and  I  sent  it  to  my  dressmaker;  she 
was  becoming  formidable." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  Doctor  solemnly,  "I 
take  fifty  pounds  out  of  that  fifty-four  pounds 
ten  and  I  start  for  Monte  Carlo.  You  shall 
pray  for  my  success." 


CONNUBIAL  223 

He  then — and  his  composure  was  a  com- 
plete demonstration  of  a  great  mind — turned 
on  his  side  and  sank  into  slumber.  His  wife 
sighed,  replaced  the  notes  and  the  bullion  in 
their  receptacle,  abandoned  her  dressing- 
gown,  and  crept  almost  furtively  into  bed.  It 
was  a  pathetic  scene,  and  one  that  poignantly 
illustrated  the  truth  of  sundry  axioms  in 
Proverbs,  Ecclesiastes,  Job,  and  Isaiah;  these 
axioms  need  not  be  quoted,  everybody  is  aware 
of  their  import;  everybody  professes  to  believe 
in  them,  thought  comparatively  few  persons 
act  as  though  they  believed  in  them. 

At  eight-fifteen,  when  the  light  of  a  Lon- 
don winter's  dawn  was  struggling  through  the 
embroidered  blind  of  the  window,  there  was  a 
tap  at  the  door,  and  Adela  entered  with  tea 
and  toast  for  two;  it  was  dry  toast.  Adela 
also  bore  five  missives — four  of  these  were  ac- 
counts rendered;  the  fifth  was  a  sealed  letter 
and  bore  the  Crewe  postmark.  Having  de- 
livered these  and  drawn  up  the  blinds,  Adela 
departed. 

The  Doctor  read  the  letter  imperturbably. 
"No  luck!"  he  commented,  and  passed  it  to 
his  wife. 

"Sims    is    getting    old,"    said    that    lady; 


224      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"surely  he  ought  to  have  had  the  sense  to " 

"My  dear,"  the  Doctor  interrupted  her, 
"you  are  ill."     He  suddenly  smiled. 

"I  am  not  ill,"  she  contradicted. 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  he  insisted ;  "you  are  ill, 
because  I  wish  you  to  be.  I  have  thought  of 
a  plan,  my  love,  a  plan." 

"What  is  it?"     Her  face  showed  hope. 

He  spoke  low  in  her  ear,  and  she  seemed 
to  approve. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Adela  was  in- 
formed that  her  mistress  was  seriously  indis- 
posed. The  doctor  rose  and  ate  a  hearty 
breakfast;  his  lunch,  however,  was  less  hearty. 
In  the  meantime  he  had  received  a  telegraphic 
communication  from  Sims  which  forced  him 
to  change  his  scheme  in  more  than  one  par- 
ticular. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS 

To  return  to  the  precincts  of  Radway  Grange, 
and  the  previous  night. 

Arthur  Forrest  accompanied  Mr.  Sims  as 
far  as  the  lodge.  It  was  the  dead  of  night, 
and  Sims  would  have  nowhere  to  go;  never- 
theless, Forrest  felt  that  he  would  have  not 
even  a  comparative  peace  of  mind  till  the  man 
had  removed  his  sinister  presence  from  the 
house.  His  strong  instinct  was  to  get  Sims 
away  instantly,  and  he  obeyed  that  instinct. 
The  scoundrelism,  the  impassive  coldness,  and, 
above  all,  the  absolute  shamelessness  of  the 
fellow,  amazed  Forrest,  unnerved  him,  weak- 
ened his  resolves.  Such  a  character  as  that  of 
Sims  was  incredible  to  such  a  character  as  that 
of  Arthur  Forrest.  The  latter  was  afraid, 
not  of  the  actual  personal  danger  to  himself — 
he  scarcely  gave  that  a  thought — but  of  the 
moral  turpitude  which  was  capable  of  the  vil- 
lainy   which    Sims    had    calmly    confessed. 

225 


226      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

When  he  reflected  upon  that  trio — the  beau- 
tiful Mrs.  Cavalossi,  Colpus,  the  sagacious 
Colpus,  and  the  unspeakable  servant — silent, 
implacably,  leisurely  at  work  upon  a  plot  so 
base  and  so  inhuman,  he  shuddered.  The 
horror  of  it  seized  him,  and  in  its  clutches  he 
shook  convulsively. 

As  he  returned  to  the  house,  and  re-entered 
it  with  furtive  steps  by  the  conservatory  door, 
the  thought  uppermost  in  his  mind  was:  what 
is  the  next  move  to  be?  Certainly  he  had, 
metaphorically  speaking,  taken  Sims  by  the 
throat  and  drawn  his  fangs.  Beyond  doubt, 
Sims  was  frightened;  Sims  was  impressed; 
and  Forrest  felt  convinced  that  from  this  par- 
ticular scoundrel  nothing  more  was  to  be 
feared.  Sims  would  decamp,  and  probably 
renew  his  activities  in  another  clime.  On  the 
whole,  Forrest  was  glad  that  he  had  let  him 
depart;  there  was  solid  information  gained, 
and  there  was  also  an  incubus  lifted  from  his 
nerves.  But  what  should  he  do  next?  The 
Colpuses  remained — clever,  inscrutable,  deter- 
mined. How  was  he  to  deal  with  them?  He 
had,  he  was  obliged  to  admit,  no  shadow  of 
proof  against  them.  To  go  to  them  with  a 
definite    accusation   would   be    absurd;    they 


THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS     227 

would  laugh  at  him;  they  would  pretend  to 
be  insulted;  they  would  ask  him  to  produce 
Sims,  who  had  made  these  startling  assertions. 
Should  he  go  to  the  police?  Probably  the 
police  also  would  offer  him  only  an  incredu- 
lous smile ;  in  any  case,  they  would  ask  to  be 
informed  why  he  had  permitted  Sims  to 
escape.  No,  he  could  not  at  the  present  stage 
of  affairs  go  to  the  police.  The  only  alterna- 
tive which  he  could  devise  was  to  consult  a 
firm  of  private  detectives,  and  by  their  aid 
make  a  thorough  investigation  of  the  career  of 
Dr.  Colput  and  Mrs.  Cavalossi.  But  here  a 
sinister  doubt — a  doubt  for  which  he  loathed 
himself — entered  his  mind;  any  such  investi- 
gation would  comprise  Sylviane  within  its 
scope.  Could  he  bring  himself  to  lift  the  veil 
of  the  past? 

Upon  one  point  he  did  come  to  a  definite 
and  unalterable  conclusion.  Arthur  Peterson 
should  hear  nothing  of  the  affair;  he  knew 
Peterson,  and  he  knew  that,  if  the  slightest 
breath  of  the  truth  reached  him,  not  only 
would  the  young  man  insist  upon  abandoning 
his  father's  fortune,  but  his  whole  life  would 
be  embittered,  and  even  ruined.  It  was  a  pos- 
sibility which  Arthur  Forrest  refused  to  con- 


228      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

template.  Peterson  believed  himself  to  be  an 
eldest  son ;  he  believed  himself  to  be  legiti- 
mate; he  believed  himself  to  be  the  rightful 
owner  of  a  vast  estate.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
was  none  of  these  things;  but  Arthur  Forrest 
swore  privately,  not  without  bitterness,  that 
his  half-brother  should  never  know  the  truth 
if  he  could  help  it. 

He  reached  the  dressing-room  again,  and 
quietly  opened  the  door  of  the  bedroom  and 
looked  in.  Sylviane,  wearied  by  too  much 
emotion,  was  sleeping.  He  gazed  at  her,  then 
closed  the  door  and  sat  down.  Suddenly  a 
notion  came  to  him  that  he  would  wake  up 
Arthur  Peterson  on  some  excuse,  and  have  a 
chat  with  him.  He  felt  that  he  must  talk  to 
some  one,  and  perhaps  an  opportunity  might 
occur  to  pave  the  way  for  a  plausible  explana- 
tion of  Sims's  absence  on  the  morrow.  He 
fought  against  the  impulse  for  a  few  moments 
— it  seemed  rather  bizarre  to  wake  up  one's 
host  in  the  middle  of  the  night — but  in  the 
end  he  yielded  to  it,  and  stepped  out  into  the 
corridor.  Peterson's  room,  he  knew,  was  at 
the  other  side  of  the  house — at  the  end  of  the 
long  corridor  which  cut  through  the  heart  of 
the  mansion  like  a  tunnel. 


THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS     229 

He  stopped  outside  the  door  of  his  own 
room  to  listen.  Not  a  sound;  nothing  but  the 
pale  radiance  of  the  westering  moon.  Before, 
when  he  had  descended  to  escort  Sims,  he  had 
experienced  no  alarm — none  of  those  strange 
sensations  of  the  night  which  attack  the 
nocturnal  wanderer  in  a  slumbering  house — 
yet  now  his  flesh  crept;  a  faint,  inexplicable 
fear  fell  upon  him  like  a  clinging  mist.  He 
would  have  gone  back  and  double-locked  his 
door  against  this  unnamed  fear;  but  he  was 
either  too  proud  or  too  obstinate,  and  so  he 
went  forward  to  Peterson's  room.  The  floor 
of  the  corridor  creaked  and  complained  under 
the  tread  of  his  slippered  feet;  the  air  was 
peopled  with  slight  noises,  which  arose  and 
subsided  in  the  causeless  manner  of  a  dream. 
At  length  he  stood  before  Peterson's  door. 
The  staircase  leading  to  the  second  story  was 
nearly  opposite  to  it,  and  to  the  right  was  a 
lofty  window.  His  heart  was  beating,  and  he 
smiled  as  if  in  scorn  of  himself. 

He  tapped  discreetly  at  the  door.  "Peter- 
son, old  man!" 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Peterson!  wake  up,  old  chap;  I  want  to 
come,  in!" 


230      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

There  was  no  answer,  but  his  voice  sounded 
with  amazing  strangeness  in  the  corridor,  and 
it  seemed  to  him  to  go  singing  up  the  stairs 
towards   the   roof   of   the   house.     Evidently 
Peterson  slept  soundly,  as  a  young  man  should, 
even   though   he   be   a   millionaire.     Arthur 
tried  the  knob;  it  turned,  and  he  said  to  him- 
self: "I'll  go  in,  I've  got  to  talk  to  some  one;" 
and  thereupon  he  went  in.     It  was  a  large 
bedroom.    At  the  end  opposite  to  the  door,  in 
front  of  the  window,  stood  a  dressing-table, 
and  on  this  was  a  night-light,  which  cast  a 
flickering  yellow  gloom  across  the  chamber. 
The  great  bed,  an  old-fashioned  erection  with 
four  immense  posts,  stood  behind  the  door. 
Forrest  approached  the  bed;  he  could  see  that 
it  was  empty  and  that  it  had  not  been  slept  in. 
He  struck  a  match,  lighted  a  candle,  and 
examined  the  room.     The  wardrobe  contained 
clothes  in  orderly  array.     On  the  table  was  a 
dirty   collar  and   a   necktie;   on   a   chair   in 
stretchers  lay  a  pair  of  trousers,  and  over  the 
back  of  the  chair  a  white  shirt.     A  waistcoat 
lay  folded  on  another  chair  close  by,  and  on 
the  floor  by  the  bed  was  a  pair  of  clocked 
socks.     Peterson  had  evidently  prepared  for 
bed,  and  then 


THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS     231 

Forrest  raised  the  candle  on  high  and 
glanced  round  the  room  bewildered.  What 
had  happened?  A  faint  sound  stole  out  from 
a  corner.  At  first  it  frightened  him,  with  its 
quick  regular  impact  on  his  ear;  and  then  he 
grasped  the  obvious  fact  that  it  was  a  watch 
ticking.  That  watch  seemed  to  be  charged 
with  some  sinister  message  for  him.  Was  it 
possible  that  Sims,  in  the  short  interval  at  his 
disposal  before  he  came  to  Forrest's  dressing- 
room,  had ?     He  felt  something  warm  on 

his  hand,  and  looked  at  the  hand  apprehen- 
sively; it  was  nothing  but  grease  from  the 
candle,  which  he  had  been  holding  crooked — 
yet  the  touch  of  that  fallen  wax  thrilled 
through  him  like  the  touch  of  blood.  He 
heard  a  noise  in  the  corridor,  and  hurriedly 
went  out  of  the  room.  A  woman's  figure, 
dressed  in  a  loose  dark  robe,  was  descending 
the  stairs  awkwardly  a  step  at  a  time.  On 
seeing  him  with  the  candle  in  the  doorway  the 
figure  started  back  and  threw  up  its  arms. 

'Who  is  there?"  he  whispered.  His  heart 
beat  heavily,  but  he  could  not  help  that. 

"It's  me,  sir,"  answered  a  venerable  voice, 
"Mrs.  Hewitt,  the  housekeeper.  I  thought  I 
heard  some  one  about,  and  so  I  came  down  to 


232       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

see.  Anything  the  matter,  Mr.  Forrest?  Is 
Mrs.  Forrest  ill?" 

"Mrs.  Hewitt,"  he  said,  "where  is  your 
master?" 

"My  master,  sir?"  she  stammered,  "isn't  he 
in  his  room?" 

"No,"  said  Forrest. 

She  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Then  you  have  found  it  out  too?"  she 
whispered. 

^^I  have  found  out  that  he  is  not  in  his 
room,"  answered  Forrest,  "and  I  want  to  know 
where  he  is ;  I  am  not  going  to  bed  till  I  have 
seen  him." 

The  old  woman  leaned  down  towards  For- 
rest, and,  dropping  her  voice  till  he  could 
scarcely  hear  it,  said,  with  beckoning  finger: 
"Come  upstairs." 

Silently  he  followed  her  to  the  second 
story;  she  guided  him  to  a  bedroom,  which 
he  took  to  be  her  own. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  she  said,  "I  was  obliged 
to  bring  you  here.  I  want  you  to  look  out  of 
the  window,  sir.  Look  along  to  the  left,  sir, 
at  the  third  window  from  this  one." 

The  window  was  open,  and  Forrest  obeyed. 
He  saw  in  the  moonlight,  projecting  from  the 


THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS     233 

window  which  Mrs.  Hewitt  had  indicated, 
what  seemed  to  be  a  piece  of  spouting  or 
gutter-pipe,  about  six  feet  in  length.  This 
spouting  moved  slightly,  as  though  some  one 
within  the  room  held  it  in  his  hands. 

"Come  back,"  said  the  warning  voice  of 
Mrs.  Hewitt,  "don't  let  him  see  you";  and 
Arthur  withdrew  his  head. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said. 

"Listen,"  she  answered. 

With  suspended  breath  he  strained  his  ear 
for  a  sound. 

"I  hear  nothing,"  he  murmured. 

"Wait." 

Far  below  there  was  the  faint  noise  of  a 
splash. 

"Something  fell,"  he  said. 

"Listen  again." 

And  after  another  interval  the  noise  of  the 
splash  was  repeated. 

"Well,  sir?"  questioned  the  housekeeper. 

"Well?",  he  returned.  "Who  is  in  that 
room?" 

"The  master,  sir,"  she  said  in  awed  tones; 
"every  night,  unless  there  isn't  a  moon,  he 
goes  up  there  after  we're  all  gone  to  bed,  and 
I  hear  them  splashes — a  hundred  and  forty- 


234       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

two  I've  heard  to-night.  There's  no  furniture 
in  that  room,  sir,  and  he  keeps  it  locked. 
Sometimes  he  takes  packages  up  there.  Just 
underneath  the  window  there's  a  sort  of  well, 
or  perhaps  I  should  say  a  little  pond,  that 
comes  nearly  up  to  the  walls  of  the  house,  sir; 
that's  where  you  hears  the  splash,  sir." 

"And  what  it  is  that  drops,  Mrs.  Hewitt?" 

"Don't  ask  me,  sir,  for  I  don't  know;  but 
I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  sir." 

"What  is  that?" 

The  woman  checked  herself. 

"You're  an  old  friend  of  the  master's,  aren't 
you,  Mr.  Forrest?" 

"I  think  I  am  the  most  intimate  friend  he 
has." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you,  sir.  The  master's 
madl" 

"Mad!"  Forrest  exclaimed,  involuntarily 
raising  his  voice.     "But " 

"Hush!"     She  stopped  him. 

There  was  the  sound  of  a  door  closing  and 
the  turning  of  a  key;  then  feet  on  the  stairs. 
Arthur  Forrest  crept  out  of  the  room,  and, 
looking  over  the  banisters,  was  just  in  time  to 
see  Peterson,  clothed  only  in  his  pyjamas,  dis- 
appear into  his  bedroom. 


THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS     235 

"I  tell  you  he's  mad."  Mrs.  Hewitt  was 
by  his  side  again. 

"But  he  can't  be,"  said  Forrest,  rather  an- 
noyed, "I  know  him  so  well ;  I've  never  known 
a  truer " 

"He's  mad,"  repeated  Mrs.  Hewitt.  "It's 
in  the  family.  I  dare  say  you  know  that 
young  Carl  died  in  an  asylum?" 


The  next  day  Sylviane  was  obliged  to  stay 
in  bed;  she  had  a  feverish  cold,  caught  the 
previous  night.  Forrest  and  Peterson  break- 
fasted together.  The  absence  of  Sims  had, 
of  course,  been  discovered,  and  Forrest,  who 
had  not  yet  decided  on  any  definite  course, 
contented  himself  with  expressing  an  indiffer- 
ent surprise  when  Peterson  told  him  the  news. 
Curiously  enough,  Peterson  himself  did  not 
seem  to  be  at  all  disconcerted  by  this  un- 
authorized departure  of  his  treasured  valet. 

*'He's  a  dreamy  fellow,"  he  said;  "rather 
queer — must  be  a  genius.  I  dare  say  he's  got 
up  early  to  go  fishing,  and  has  forgotten  the 
time." 

"Does  he  often  forget  the  time?"  asked 
Arthur. 


236       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"No,  I  must  say  he  doesn't;  but  when  a 
fellow's  fishing,  you  know " 

"Just  so,"  Arthur  agreed.  "By  the  way, 
talking  of  fishing,  that's  a  curious  little  well  or 
pond  you've  got  up  against  the  back  of  the 
house." 

Peterson  stopped  eating,  his  eye  suddenly 
blazed,  and  then  he  looked  away. 

"When  did  you  see  it?"  he  inquired, 
fiercely,  almost  angrily. 

"I  was  taking  my  walks  abroad  this  morn- 
ing," answered  Arthur,  with  careful  non- 
chalance, "and  I  happened  to  come  across  it; 
that's  all." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  meal  Peterson 
never  uttered  another  word.  Towards  after- 
noon, as  Sims  had  not  returned,  Peterson 
talked  of  informing  the  police. 

"Wait  till  to-morrow,  old  chap,"  said  For- 
rest; "that's  my  advice.  Fifty  things  may 
have  occurred  to  keep  him  away,  and  Sims 
isn't  the  man  to  let  himself  come  to  any  serious 
harm." 

Peterson  concurred ;  and  so  It  happened  that 
Forrest  had  another  day  in  which  to  form  a 
plan  of  action. 

Just  before  dinner  there  came  a  telegram 


THE  RAIN  OF  SOVEREIGNS     237 

addressed  to  Mrs.  Forrest;  Forrest  opened  it. 
The  message  was:  "Your  mother  seriously  ill; 
you  had  better  come  to-morrow.  Colpus, 
Hotel  Cecil." 

Instantly  Arthur  Forrest  seemed  to  see  a 
way  clear.  Sylviane  could  not  go  to  London ; 
he  would  go  alone,  and  seize  or  create  an 
opportunity  to  come  to  grips  with  Colpus. 
As  for  the  illness,  it  did  not  interest  him;  he 
admitted  to  himself  he  wished  Mrs.  Colpus 
might  not  recover;  that  would  be  a  tremen- 
dous simplification. 

That  night,  half  an  hour  after  he  had  said 
good  night  to  his  host,  Forrest  crept  out 
through  the  conservatory  to  the  back  of  the 
house.  Sticking  close  to  the  wall,  he  went 
forward  till  he  came  to  the  well.  Looking 
up,  he  descried  the  projecting  pipe  above  him; 
there  was  a  splash  at  his  feet.  Almost  me- 
chanically he  took  off  his  hat  and  held  it  over 
the  open  well ;  presently  a  light  object  fell  into 
it.  Arthur  examined  this  gift  from  above — 
it  was  a  sovereign. 

With  a  sinking  heart  he  crept  back  again, 
and  even  as  he  went  he  heard  another  splash 
into  the  well. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  LAST 

The  next  morning  Peterson  drove  Arthur 
Forrest  to  Crewe  station.  The  millionaire 
was  in  the  gayest  mood,  and  as  Forrest  listened 
to  his  chatter  he  could  scarcely  believe  that 
this  was  the  man  who  spent  the  midnight  hours 
in  dropping  sovereigns  down  a  well  from  a 
second-story  window.  And  yet,  sometimes, 
as  he  looked  at  him  and  examined  the  work- 
ings of  his  face,  the  terrible  words  of  Mrs. 
Hewitt,  spoken  with  such  firmness  and  con- 
viction, came  back  to  him  with  appalling 
force.  There  was  a  looseness,  a  lack  of  con- 
trol in  the  man's  gesture,  which  might  easily 
be  interpreted  as  the  beginning  of  madness,  or, 
at  any  rate,  of  monomania.  For  himself,  For- 
rest was  depressed;  he  felt  as  though  he  was 
standing  on  a  plank,  and  the  plank  was  being 
withdrawn  from  under  his  feet — turn  which 
way  he  would,  he  could  see  no  sure  ground  in 
front  of  him.     He  doubted  now  whether  after 

2(38 


THE  LAST  239 

all  Sims  was  really  disposed  of,  whether  he 
might  not  have  returned  direct  to  his  employ- 
ers, the  Colpuses,  and  commenced  a  new  series 
of  machinations.  Forrest  was  also  uneasy 
about  his  wife.  She  was  by  no  means  seri- 
ously unwell,  but  the  feverish  cold  which  held 
her  had  not  improved,  and  he  had  left  her  still 
in  bed.  He  would  have  preferred  to  stay  by 
her  side;  but  when,  without  actually  showing 
her  the  telegram,  he  had  told  her  that  her 
mother  was  ill,  she  had  of  her  own  accord 
suggested  that  he  should  go  to  London. 

"If  mother  is  ill  she  will  be  very  ill," 
Sylviane  had  said.     "I  should   like  you  to 

go." 

"I  meant  to  go,"  he  had  answered. 

"Perhaps — perhaps  you  may — be  able  to  do 
something,"  she  had  suggested,  with  a  strange, 
wistful  glance. 

But  what  could  he  do?  he  reflected;  how 
should  he  broach  the  subject  to  Dr.  Colpus? 
What  logic  could  he  use?  What  pressure 
could  he  bring  to  bear?  Would  not  the  re- 
sult be  that  he  would  merely  make  himself 
ridiculous,  with  no  result  whatever?  If  he 
had  one  shred — one  tittle  of  evidence — but  he 
had  not.     He  almost  regretted  now  that  he 


240       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

had  let  Sims  go.  Would  it  not  have  been  bet- 
ter to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  as  it  were,  to 
have  given  Sims  into  custody,  and  trusted  to 
the  efforts  of  the  police  to  get  hold  of  some- 
thing tangible? 

Peterson  woke  him  up  from  his  reverie. 
"You're  worrying,"  the  young  man  said, 
"and  it's  a  fine  autumn  morning;  you're 
behind  a  good  horse,  and  you  ought  to  be 
sublimely  ashamed  of  yourself.  I'm  sure  you 
needn't  get  excited  about  your  mother-in-law; 
these  things  always  seem  more  serious  at  a 
distance.  When  you  get  there  you're  certain 
to  find  that  it's  nothing  very  extraordinary,  this 
illness  of  hers.  As  for  your  wife,  Forrest,  rely 
on  me  to  take  care  that  she  is  seen  after." 
Peterson  spoke  with  a  sudden  access  of  feeling. 
"I  shall  call  for  Dr.  Spriggs  and  take  him 
back  with  me." 

They  reached  the  station.  At  the  book- 
stall Forrest  stopped  to  buy  a  paper,  but  found 
that  he  had  no  small  change. 

"Can  you  change  me  a  sovereign?"  he  said 
to  Peterson,  and  held  out  a  gold  piece.  It 
happened  to  be  the  very  coin  which  he  had 
caught  in  his  hat  on  the  previous  night — abso- 
lutely new  and  bright. 


THE  LAST  241 

Peterson  looked  at  the  sovereign  intently, 
and  as  he  did  so  his  face  altered.  "No,"  he 
said,  as  if  ofifended;  "I  can't." 

Although  the  train  was  an  express,  its 
progress  to  London  that  morning  was  notice- 
ably slow — the  good  genius  of  the  North- 
western Railway,  the  finest  railway  in  the 
world,  seemed  to  be  struggling  against  some 
adverse  and  powerful  influence.  Forrest 
chafed  under  the  delays.  He  was  absorbed  by 
the  desire  to  see  the  Colpuses,  to  do  something; 
he  felt  that  further  inactivity  was  impossible. 
The  train  ran  into  Willesden  very  late ;  Arthur 
noticed  that  it  was  nearly  twenty  minutes  to 
two.  A  down  train,  the  one-thirty  from 
Euston,  was  just  leaving  the  station.  Forrest 
gazed  absently  at  the  compartments  as  they 
slowly  filed  past  him.  Then  suddenly  he 
started  up ;  he  had  seen  a  face — the  merest 
glimpse  of  a  face — in  that  outgoing  train;  but 
he  was  sure  of  it,  and  it  was  the  face  of  Dr. 
Colpus.  He  excitedly  inquired  from  the  offi- 
cial who  collected  the  tickets  where  the  down 
train  was  bound  for.  "Crewe  and  North 
Wales,"  was  the  answer.  He  wanted  to  jump 
out  and  pursue  it;  he  wanted  to  fly,  to  perform 
miracles -of  speed. 


242       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

"What  is  the  next  train  to  Crewe?"  he 
asked. 

"Two  o'clock  from  Euston,  sir — Scotch 
express;  doesn't  stop  anywhere,  sir.  Due  in 
Crewe  at  5.15,  one  minute  before  the  train 
that's  just  gone  out,  sir." 

"Could  I  catch  it  at  Euston?" 

"You  might  just  catch  it,  sir." 

But  there  was  another  long  delay  at  Willes- 
den,  and  it  was  one  minute  to  two  o'clock 
when  it  arrived  at  Euston.  Forrest  flung 
himself  out  and  raced  round  to  the  departure 
platform.  The  Scotch  express  was  just 
moving.  A  porter  tried  to  block  his  way; 
but  he  made  a  circuit  of  the  man,  opened 
the  door  of  a  second-class  compartment,  which 
happened  to  be  nearest,  and  sprang  in.  He 
had  caught  iti  He  smiled  triumphantly.  He 
laughed — it  was  wellnigh  a  brutal  laugh — the 
laugh  of  one  who  feels  that  he  is  to  be  a  con- 
queror. He  was  sure — the  truth  flashed  upon 
him — that  Mrs.  Colpus's  illness  was  a  purely 
imaginary  illness,  and  that  the  telegram  of  the 
previous  evening  had  been  despatched  solely 
to  get  him,  and  Sylviane  also,  out  of  the  way, 
while  Dr.  Colpus  performed  a  mission  of  his 
own  at  Radway  Grange.    What  that  mission 


THE  LAST  243 

was  he  could  not  guess.  It  might  be  a  mission 
of  murder,  or  its  object  might  merely  be  to  see 
Arthur  Peterson  and  inform  him  of  the  true 
facts  of  old  Peterson's  first  marriage.  In 
either  case  Forrest  swore  to  himself  that  the 
mission  should  not  be  executed.  By  a  for- 
tunate chance  he  had  caught  sight  of  Colpus, 
and  he  would  take  full  advantage  of  his  good 
fortune;  he  felt  almost  happy  in  the  im- 
mediate prospect  of  open  hostilities — he  felt 
that  he  was  capable  of  any  audacity,  any  bold- 
ness. The  one  matter  that  troubled  him  was 
the  question  of  Sims.  Why  was  Dr.  Colpus 
thus  hurrying  the  matter?  Was  it  because  he 
had  heard  from  Sims,  or  was  it  because  he  had 
not  heard  from  Sims,  and,  not  hearing,  feared 
an  unlooked-for  hitch?  To  these  queries  he 
could  discover  no  satisfactory  reply. 

The  express  proved  itself  worthy  of  its 
reputation  as  one  of  the  first  "flyers"  in  the 
kingdom.  Arthur  Forrest  happened  to  have 
with  him  a  time-table  and  a  map,  and  he  cal- 
culated that  his  own  train  should  overtake  the 
train  which  had  left  Euston  half  an  hour 
before  it,  stopping  at  Willesden,  Rugby,  and 
Stafford  en  route,  somewhere  near  Whitmore, 
a    wayside    station    about    halfway    between 


244       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

Stafford  and  Crewe.  As  soon  as  the  Scotch 
express  with  its  two  engines  had  thundered 
through  Stafford  he  began  to  look  out  of  the 
window.  The  superb  quadruple  road  of  the 
North-Western  stretched  away  in  front  in 
large  sweeping  curves.  Almost  immediately 
he  saw  a  wisp  of  steam  through  some  distant 
trees,  and  soon  he  caught  sight  of  the  tail  of  the 
North  Wales  train.  He  timed  the  speed  by 
the  mile-posts ;  they  were  travelling  at  the  rate 
of  sixty-four  miles  an  hour.  Gradually,  with 
infinite  slowness,  the  big  Scotch  express  drew 
nearer  to  the  much  lighter,  single-engined 
train,  which  was  now  only  a  few  hundred 
yards  ahead.  In  four  minutes  the  two  trains 
were  practically  level,  running  side  by  side 
down  the  gentle  slope  into  Crewe  at  something 
like  sixty-five  miles  an  hour.  It  was  a  mag- 
nificent, a  thrilling  sight — these  two  tremen- 
dous powers  vying  with  each  other  in  a  Titanic 
contest*  As  his  own  train  crawled  past  the 
glinting,  swaying  wheels  of  the  other  one, 
Arthur,  with  a  quick  movement,  drew  down 
the  blind  and  peeped  out  cautiously  from  be- 
hind it.     At  length  he  saw  Dr.  Colpus,  soli- 

*  These  express  races,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  do  or  did  actually 
occur  on  the  London  and  North-Western  line  between  Stafford 
and  Crewe. 


THE  LA6T  245 

tary  in  a  first-class  carriage.  Dr.  Colpus 
seemed  to  be  very  busy  doing  something  to  a 
walking-stick — so  busy,  in  fact,  that  he  did  not 
appear  to  notice  the  great  race  which  was  go- 
ing on.  Suddenly  the  increased  vibration,  or 
something  else,  attracted  his  attention,  and  he 
looked  up  and  saw  the  other  train.  With  a 
swift  instinctive  movement  he  dropped  the 
walking-stick.  Arthur  noticed  that  the  Doc- 
tor's face  had  an  air  of  having  been  detected 
in  some  sin. 

The  next  thing  was  a  sudden  jar;  the 
Scotch  express  had  encountered  an  adverse 
signal,  and  Arthur  had  the  mortification  of 
watching  the  other  train  slide  past  him  to  the 
front.  When  the  Scotch  express  drew  up 
alongside  the  platform  at  Crewe,  the  Crewe 
passengers  of  the  North  Wales  train  had  al- 
ready left  it.  Arthur  hastened  to  leave  the 
station,  but  he  saw  nothing  of  Dr.  Colpus.  It 
was  now  nearly  dark.  He  took  a  cab,  and  told 
the  driver  to  drive  to  Radway  at  his  very  best 
pace;  he  hoped  to  overtake  the  Doctor  on  the 
road.  Within  the  last  mile  of  Radway  they 
met  a  vehicle  returning,  and  just  outside  the 
lodge  gates  Arthur  saw  a  figure  in  the  heavy 
dusk;  he  called  abruptly  to  the  driver  to  stop, 


246       THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

paid  him,  and  jumped  out.  The  figure  stood 
hesitatingly  in  the  shadow  of  the  lodge  wall. 
Forrest  watched  his  cab  depart  and  then  ap- 
proached the  wall.  At  the  sound  of  footsteps 
in  the  slushy  road  the  figure  turned  quickly 
round. 

"Good  evening,  Doctor,"  said  Arthur 
quietly,  summoning  all  his  wits,  all  his  cool- 
ness. 

"Forrest!"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  obviously 
taken  aback;  and  then,  quietly:  "How  are 
you,  my  dear  fellow?" 

"I'm  in  excellent  form,  thanks,"  said  Arthur 
dryly;  "but  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  unex- 
pected visit?  You  wired  us  that  Mrs.  Colpus 
was  seriously  ill." 

"Ah!  she  is  better,  Arthur;  she  is  better. 
Er — a  wonderful  constitution,  my  wife's;  her 
recuperative  powers  astound  me!" 

"Indeed!  I  am  glad  she  is  better;  but  you 
haven't  told  me  why  you  are  here.  Have  you 
come  to  let  Sylviane  know  that  her  mother  is 
out  of  danger?" 

The  Doctor  looked  up  queerly,  as  though 
he  detected  some  sarcasm  in  Forrest's  tone. 

He  twirled  his  walking-stick — that  stick 
which  Arthur  had  noticed  in  the  train — and 


THE  LAST  247 

then  put  his  arm  into  Forrest's  and  drew  him 
into  the  tree-lined  avenue  past  the  lodge. 

'^My  dear  fellow,  the  fact  is  I  have  come 
down  on  a  strange  errand — I  scarcely  like  to 
breathe  it,  it  is  so  queer;  but  you  will  have  to 
know,  sooner  or  later,  and  you  may  as  well 
know  now.  I  dare  say  you  have  discovered 
that  our  old  servant  Sims  has  quarrelled  with 
us  and  taken  service  with  Mr.  Peterson." 

"I  have  noticed  it,"  said  Arthur;  "and  I 
have  also  noticed  something  else." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Go  on;  I  will  tell  you  afterwards." 

"Well,  Sims  wrote  to  my  wife  a  day  or  two 
ago,  hoping  she'd  excuse  the  liberty,  and  said 
he  had  found  out  a  terrible  thing — that  Mr. 
Peterson  was  mad." 

"Mad?"  Forrest  was  startled  in  spite  of 
himself. 

"Yes,  undoubtedly;  a  monomaniac  on  the 
subject  of  golden  sovereigns.  He  hides  it 
well ;  but  Sims,  as  you  know,  is  a  smart  fellow. 
Now,  a  monomaniac,  under  some  conditions, 
is  the  most  dangerous  sort  of  lunatic.  My 
wife  was  uneasy  about  Sylviane  and  yourself, 
and  she  would  not  rest  till  I  promised  to  come 
down  here  and  look  into  things.     Of  course  I 


248      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

shall  have  to  make  some  excuse  to  Mr.  Peter- 
son for  my  presence.     Is  Sims  about?" 

"Sims  is  not  exactly  about,"  said  Forrest. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  he  has  left  here;  surely  he  has  in- 
formed you  of  his  departure?" 

"Why  should  he  inform  me?"  said  the  Doc- 
tor under  his  breath. 

"I  made  him  leave,"  said  Arthur,  deter- 
mined to  bring  things  to  a  crisis  instantly. 
"Dr.  Colpus,  from  the  moment  my  wife  saw 
Sims  here  she  suspected  your  damnable  plot; 
she  told  me  of  her  suspicions,  and  I  cap- 
tured Sims  in  a  room  by  himself,  and  gave  him 
the  choice  between  confession  and  the  prison. 
He  chose  to  give  his  employers  away — that's 
all." 

Dr.  Colpus  raised  his  stick  in  a  peculiar 
manner,  and  then  dropped  it.  He  tried  to 
speak,  but  apparently  could  not  compose  any 
suitable  speech. 

"And  let  me  tell  you  something  else,"  re- 
sumed Arthur.  "I  know  that  your  telegram 
was  a  mere  blind;  I  know  that  Mrs.  Colpus 
has  not  been  ill,  though  I  was  fool  enough  at 
first  to  believe  that  she  was.  I  went  up  to 
London  this  morning,  my  dear  Doctor,  saw 


THE  LAST  249 

you  by  a  happy  chance  at  Willesden,  and  fol- 
lowed you  back  to  Crewe.  I  think  I  can 
guess  your  object  in  coming  here:  you  had 
not  heard  satisfactory  news  from  your  friend, 
Mr.  Sims;  you  feared  that  something  had 
gone  wrong,  and  so  you  thought  you  would 
come  down  and  settle  afifairs  in  your  own 
style.  One  murder  more  or  less,  what  would 
that  be  to  you?  If  Arthur  Peterson  were  out 
of  the  way,  I  should  take  the  Peterson  mil- 
lions then.  Why,  of  course !  And  then,  when 
I  had  taken  them,  how  easy  to  send  me  after 
Peterson  I" 

Forrest,  for  all  his  intention  to  be  cool,  had 
lost  control  of  himself  in  the  heat  of  his  anger. 
He  moved  closer  to  the  Doctor,  and  fixed  on 
him  a  menacing  glance.  In  the  darkness  each 
could  just  distinguish  the  other's  face. 

"Are  you,  too,  mad,  Arthur?"  said  the  Doc- 
tor, gently. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  trees  behind  them. 

"What  was  that?"  exclaimed  the  Doctor. 

"If  it  is  not  Sims,  it  is  a  rabbit,"  Arthur 
sneered. 

"I  really  can't  pretend  to  make  any  answer 
to  this  marvellous  charge  of  yours,"  began  the 
Doctor;  "I  can  only  hope  that  you  are  not 


250      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

yourself  to-night.     I  think  I  will  leave  you." 

"Before  you  leave  me  you  might  answer  one 
question,"  said  Arthur. 

"Well?"  said  the  Doctor,  as  though  to  hu- 
mour a  lunatic. 

"How  did  you  kill  the  late  Mr.  Drew?" 

There  was  a  silence,  but  Dr.  Colpus's 
breathing  could  be  heard. 

"Then  Sims  has  blabbed,"  he  muttered. 

"Have  you  no  answer?" 

"It  is  useless  to  say  anything;  I  will  go." 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur,  "you  will  go— but  you 
will  go  to  the  police-station." 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  Doctor,  "you 
must  not  take  me  for  a  fool,  my  dear  Arthur. 
A  man  such  as  I  always  arranges  for  acci- 
dents, and  it  appears  that  an  accident  has  hap- 
pened." 

"Then  you  confess?" 

"Since  you  insist.  But  there  will  be  no 
police-station,  and  I  will  tell  you  why.  To 
accuse  me  would  be  to  accuse  your  wife's 
mother,  Arthur ;  you  couldn't  do  that.  Think 
of  Sylviane's  feelings;  think  of  the  scandal." 
The  Doctor  smiled. 

"If  the  scandal  were  fiftyfold  what  it  will 


THE  LAST  251 

be,  you  shall  hang.     As  for  my  wife,  I  am 
capable  of  watching  over  her." 

"Ahem!"  said  the  Doctor.  "By  the  way, 
Arthur,  satisfy  my  anxiety  on  this  one  point; 
I  beg  it  as  a  last  favour.  Why  did  you  refuse 
the  fortune?" 

"I  will  tell  you — I  should  like  to  tell  you. 
On  her  deathbed  I  promised  my  mother  that 
I  would  never  attempt  to  obtain  my  father's 
fortune  from  my  half-brother;  she  was  proud, 
and  I  am  proud.  'If  your  father  could  forget 
us,'  she  said,  'let  him  forget  us;  we  will  owe 
nothing  to  him.'  And  I,  too,  say,  let  him  for- 
get us.  Not  for  ten  times  the  millions  would 
I  stoop  to  take  those  millions  from  the  man  to 
whom  my  father  left  them." 

"I  can  scarcely  understand  such  a  feeling,'* 
said  the  Doctor. 

"Possibly  not." 

"Nevertheless,  my  curiosity  is  satisfied." 

"And  now  I  shall  send  the  lodgeman  for  the 
police." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Dr. 
Colpus,  "for  I  am  going  to  kill  you."  The 
Doctor  raised  his  stick  in  both  hands.  "This 
is  only  an  air-gun,"  he  continued;  "but  it  is  a 


252      THE  GATES  OF  WRATH 

very  special  air-gun,  and  it  will  infallibly  kill 
at  four  yards.  Moreover,  it  doesn't  make  a 
noise.  Don't  stir,  sir.  I  give  you  ten  seconds 
in  which  to  pray  for  your  idiot  soul.  One — 
two — three — " 

There  was  a  crash  through  the  trees,  and 
the  Doctor  was  violently  dragged  backward, 
by  a  suddenly  appearing  figure,  into  the  ditch 
which  bordered  the  avenue.  Both  figures 
dropped  out  of  sight,  and  Arthur  Forrest 
could  hear  the  sound  of  a  terrible  struggle. 

When  Forrest  and  the  lodgeman  came 
with  a  lantern  they  found  the  Doctor  dead — 
choked,  with  Arthur  Peterson's  hands  still 
clasped  like  a  vice  round  his  throat.  As  for 
Peterson,  he  was  dying:  he  had  been  shot  in 
the  neck.     They  carried  him  into  the  house. 

"Forrest,"  he  murmured,  "we  are  quits 
now;  I  saved  your  life." 

"Thanks  for  that;  but  don't  talk,  old  man." 

"He  called  me  mad,  Forrest,  and  I  was,  I 
was.  I  tried  to  keep  it  of?,  but  I  couldn't.  I 
felt  I  must  drop  a  thousand  sovereigns  every 
week  into  that  well.  I  was  bound  to  do  it. 
Bad  blood,  Forrest.  I  say,  Forrest,  shake 
hands — Good-bye !" 


THE  LAST  253 

As  Arthur  Forrest  closed  the  eyes  of  his 
dead  friend,  he  thought  of  a  verse  from  the 
oldest  of  the  sacred  books  of  the  East:  "Let 
him  that  inherits  riches  take  heed  lest  perad- 
venture  he  enter  thereby  into  the  gates  of 
ivrath." 

In  spite  of  himself  Arthur  Forrest  became 
a  millionaire.  He  passed  his  time  in  spoiling 
his  wife  and  in  purchasing  authentic  master- 
pieces of  painting  and  presenting  them  to  pub- 
lic galleries.  His  own  collection  of  canvases 
is  the  finest  private  collection  in  Europe. 

Mrs.  Cavalossi  was  last  heard  of  in  Buenos 
Ayres,  upon  which  city  the  effulgent  autumn 
of  her  beauty  sheds  an  adorable  glow. 


THE  END 


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